


Lodestar

by themantlingdark



Series: Gemini [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 16:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 101,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: Set After "The Avengers." Thor brings Loki back to Asgard to face Odin's judgment. Odin's sentence is a blessing disguised as a curse.





	1. Afterward

 

 

They return home, the pure nothingness of the rift in space from the Tesseract like a balm to Loki’s soul after the relentless mundanity of Midgard. The repairs to the Bifrost are yet incomplete, but Heimdall still stands on the intact portion of the bridge, watching the worlds. A mounted royal guard with two saddled horses waits a short distance behind him. In their exhaustion, Thor and Loki have barely registered their own arrival when they hear the low liquid tones of Heimdall’s voice telling them Odin is expecting them. 

Loki’s eyebrows ascend briefly. Thor’s Adam’s apple jumps, nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches. He wants a moment’s peace. He wants bloodshed. He wants to scream, which reminds him that Loki cannot. He remembers the sickening sense of helplessness, loss,  and violation he felt when Odin took Mjolnir from him and reaches to remove the gag from his brother’s mouth. Some dull and easily ignored recess of his brain is warning him of sorcery and lies and heartache as his fingerprints undo Tony Stark’s lock. Thor watches the little threads of salivadrawn between the gag and his brother’s lips stretch until they break.

"Still so reckless, brother,” Loki rasps, and when he smirks Thor knows he’s lost. 

He has tried to cling to justified anger and to bury his senseless trust in his brother, but he’d rather fall for a thousand of Loki’s tricks than risk missing a moment of Loki’s truth. And right now Loki’s eyes are lined red and grinning, and his lips are saying brother and that’s as close to an appreciation of art and music as Thor is ever likely to come, and it may be another lie, but it’s no less lovely for it. 

Loki stretches his jaw, skin ashen, body still radiating frustration and littered with the wounds Thor and Banner dealt him. Thor wants to take him to the healers, the kitchens, and then the baths before bundling him into bed for a sleep that would last days, as he had done after their first battles together. He wonders if they are on the same side at this moment. If they ever really were. If they always were. And what was his brother fighting for? He loves chaos and change and never clings to a cause for long. This defeat seems not to sting him. He got up from Stark’s floor asking for a drink. Perhaps his plan was to lose, knowing Thor would clean up his mess and bring him safely home. That possibility should probably make Thor furious, but he can never find it in himself to begrudge his brother’s cleverness. Perhaps he simply loves to war, and they may be alike in that. Perhaps to Loki there is only Loki, and everything else in the realms is a viable adversary. Or distraction. But perhaps there is room enough for Thor beside him. Sometimes.

They approach the guard. Thor tosses the Tesseract to him, unbalancing him briefly so that he flails in his saddle as he juggles  the device in his hands. Then he removes the shackles from Loki’s wrists and throws them from the Bifrost along with Loki’s muzzle, giving the guard the most deliciously withering glare Loki has ever seen. Loki fails to suppress a smile, but does attempt to hide it by ducking his head. Thor sees it anyway. To his credit, the guard doesn’t falter as he tells them he is to bring Loki directly to the throne to hear Odin’s sentence. 

Loki opens his mouth and closes it. Twice. On his third attempt he manages a soft, “Damn,” which he supposes is an improvement on the gaping, but not by much. He’s always expected Odin’s justice to be harsh (death, almost certainly) and swift, but this haste seems distasteful even to Loki. He estimates he has perhaps an hour to live, depending on how loquacious the All-Father is feeling. Loki may gain fifteen minutes if he is in a mood for lecturing. If Thor’s banishment is any indication, Loki’s sentence will be carried out as soon as it is spoken. 

He quickly debates the merits of kicking, screaming, lying, and burning his way out of this world versus comporting himself in a manner befitting a prince of Asgard. And, though the former promises some visceral pleasure, he ultimately dismisses it, as he has always been rather fond of his dignity and would prefer to salvage what shreds of it remain to him. Besides, if the current  state of the sky is any indication, there is a very real possibility of a tantrum from Thor, and he wouldn’t want to miss that. Still, he had hoped for at least enough time to set his affairs in some sort of order and to say farewell to Frigga and, yes, bloody Thor properly, but he suspects the too-short trip to the throne is all he has, so he’ll have to make do.

Thor nearly roars that he’ll escort Loki himself, and with a scowl and a wave of his arm dismisses the guard. For his part, the guard looks both skeptical and relieved, and if he hastens his horse to speed him away from the Bifrost with undisguised enthusiasm, no one can blame him. Thor is fingering Mjolnir’s handle, probably unconsciously, Loki realizes, and breathing fast. Loki has never seen Thor call a thunderstorm to the edge of empty space, and it’s beautiful. Vast. Violent. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The soft and intangible appearance of the clouds veiling blades of lightning. Loki has always loved Thor’s darkness. It feels like we’re the same, he thinks, even if it isn’t true.

Loki allows himself the luxury of basking in the strange watercolors-and-gunpowder beauty of his brother’s magic for some minutes before he shakes his head, sighs, and smacks his brother’s blond skull.

“Calm down. I’ve fought hard for this fate and I’ll not have you taking it from me.” 

I shall not be robbed of my escape from my own treacherous heart, and I shall have the satisfaction of watching Odin break his own as he condemns his son to death, Loki thinks with bitter contentment. And he wonders how Thor will take his death. He is torn between wanting it to destroy his  brother, as it would him if their positions were reversed, and hoping Thor recovers within the hour. He could use magic to secure either outcome, but that’s cheating, and Loki prefers not to deceive himself. He is brutally honest with himself, though he lies to everyone else as often as possible. His dishonesty with others is reliable, he feels. They can safely assume he’s lying, and that cuts down on misunderstandings.

“I need you to promise me something,” Loki says. 

“Anything.”

Loki snarls and grabs Thor by both ears, yanking his face nearly flush with his own.

“Now you shall promise me two things. One: You will never again answer a request for a promise with the word ‘anything,’ do you understand? You are honest to a fault.  Generous. Kind. Ever the optimist. Soft. It is a hard world and while, perhaps, I am one to trust trust too little, you trust too much, and you’ve more to lose.” 

Loki takes a deep breath and steadies himself before continuing. 

“Two: You will learn at least enough sorcery to detect it, to defend yourself from it, and to heal yourself when you fail.”

Thor recovers from his shock, nods his assent, and Loki releases his ears. He takes a moment to gauge Loki’s anger, determines that it’s as safe as it will ever be, and ventures to speak.

“I am no Mage. Is there not a danger I will do more harm than good?”

“In the beginning, certainly. That is the way of it, always. But failure makes an excellent tutor.” 

Thor wonders which lessons Loki has learned from his missteps, and what qualifies as a mistake in his estimation.

“Mjolnir is a thing of near pure magic, and you are bound to her as she is to you. It’s magic when you call a storm, Thor. Very strong, very ancient magic. You are not without hope. Ask the All-Father. Sorcery isn’t limited to warfare as other weapons are. You would do well to have it always at your disposal, especially when you are king.”

Thor nods again, and when he turns to watch his thunderheads roiling through the stars Loki seizes the opportunity to slip a few protective spells onto his reckless brother’s person. They are old and simple. The sort of magic Loki loves best. Sturdy, subtle, and difficult to detect once cast. Odin will, of course, sense them, and will know Loki’s weakness, but that can’t be helped. And he won’t have to be embarrassed about it for long.

“What have you just done to me?” Thor asks, turning to face Loki, his right eyebrow and the left corner of his mouth raised.

Loki throws his head back, laughing, and claps his hands, eyes wide with delight and disbelief.

“You felt that? You? You’re not as dense as you’ve let on. We will make a Mage of you yet.”

No, not “we,” he thinks viciously. Odin, and perhaps Frigga, but nevermore “we.”  

Mother, he laments. Will he see her at all before he dies? And it hits him, then, that he is entirely uncertain of what awaits him in the palace. Odin, obviously, but what more? A jeering crowd? An assembly of quietly disappointed elders? The spirits of Loki’s dead? Loki opts to err on the side of caution for once, though it makes him itch. He’ll say his goodbyes to Thor now, while he has some quantum of control left to him, and spare himself at least one regret. 

With motions that bear the grace of the familiar though he is long out of practice, Loki clasps his brother by the back of the neck with his right hand and braces his left over Thor’s heart. He takes a deep breath only to have it knocked back out of him as he levels his gaze with his brother’s and finds the picture of stoic heartbreak staring back at him through wet blue. And the thousands of things he’s longed to say over all these centuries swarm his mind like starlings, but never alight on his tongue. 

So he’s left to settle for the most obvious option. The safest, he thinks. Oh, Loki, you coward. Oh, Thor, I am swindling you.

“Fare thee well, brother.”

“Loki-“

“Odin’s waiting,” Loki interrupts, swiftly spinning to approach the horse brought for him. 

He hasn’t bargained on having to watch his brother break - not like this, anyway, not at Odin’s hands. If he sees much more of it, his already meager resolve will crumble, and he’ll be begging Thor to jump from the Bifrost with him. They’d survive, probably, if past experience counts for anything, and Loki would have exactly what he’s always wanted - a world composed of naught but he and Thor. And wouldn’t that be something. A Gemini constellation for Asgard’s skies. Two dying stars spinning together until time’s end, drawing closer until they merge, devouring each other and burning away to nothing.  

Loki waits by his mount until Thor follows, both of them with eyes too shiny, mouths in lines that threaten to crack. Loki lifts his left foot to the stirrup and looks over his shoulder at Thor, clearing his throat and twisting his lips into a grin.

“Loki?”

“Fancy a race, brother?” Loki asks, feigned innocence and genuine flirtation. Because he can’t resist, and why should he? Thor will interpret it as harmless teasing, as he always has. And there is nothing to lose now.

Thor’s smile is all teeth and crinkled eyes and it’s real, and Loki loves him for it, as they hoist themselves into their saddles.

“What to the winner?”

“Anything,” Loki mocks, shaking his head and rolling his eyes while he bites his tongue to thwart its shouting Death! and spoiling their fun.

They line up, count down from three, and then they’re off, one streak of black and one of snapping red, clattering up the bridge as the sky grows light and Asgard swells in their view. They laugh as they overtake the guard and soon they’re careening through the streets, cursing and shouting and leaning hard into the turns, horses foamy and thrilling beneath them. People scramble out of their way and more than once Loki has to hasten them with the dregs of his magic to avoid trouble, but he isn’t hindered by the effort. His slight frame and accord with animals have always made him an unbeatable rider. Somehow, on Midgard, those traits fed a tale of his seducing a horse, which is ridiculous - Thor is as much Sleipnir’s father (or mother) as Loki is. Loki doesn‘t mind, but he would dearly love to know what inspired the tale of Thor disguising himself as a bride. His beauty, Loki wagers. How any being with an eye to its name could not want him is beyond comprehension. 

Loki wins by nine horse-lengths and has time to spin his mount to face Thor as his horse skids to a halt before the steps to the  palace. They’re beaming at each other with something like triumph, which shouldn’t be the case - especially not with what came before and what’s about to follow, but they won’t let logic stop them now. The proportions of the joy and sadness between them decisively favor joy - by a whole millennium - and they will gratefully take whatever portion of happiness the fates still hold for them in this panicked farewell. 

They dismount and ascend the stairs, both of them silently relieved to find the hallway deserted when they stagger in, still breathing hard and giddy from their ride. They lean back against the closed doors, setting their hair and clothes to rights as they catch their breath.

“What is your prize?” Thor pants.

Loki laughs in surprise before his face smooths into something serious. And sad, Thor thinks, Bordering on broken. I’ve said the wrong thing again.

“Give us a kiss.”  

Loki says it to the ceiling with eyes closed, and waits for Thor to laugh, or brush him off, or pretend he hasn’t heard, or perhaps throw him through a wall. Instead, he finds himself yanked from his feet and dangling from Thor’s arms in a probably-undignified manner as his brother hugs him fiercely. Their armor is bending and pinching them awkwardly, but Loki returns the embrace as much as he’s able and huffs a laugh through his nose. Thor mumbles an apology of some sort into Loki’s neck, lowering him slightly so that he can stand up on his toes. Neither is sure how long they stay that way, just breathing and staring unseeing over each other’s shoulders. Loki finally blinks and gives Thor a squeeze, which Thor returns, before they ease off. Thor’s hands wander to loiter on Loki’s shoulders and Loki’s fingertips are reluctant to release Thor’s waist.  

It feels uncanny, like they should be saying their goodnights and staggering off to bed as they have a thousand times before. Loki smiles grimly, sobering at last, and drops his arms, but Thor only moves his right hand to take Loki’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it down so that he may kiss the cut on Loki’s forehead. And part of Loki is screaming No no no! Bite him, stab him again, anything, just stop him somehow. Teach him not to trust you if it’s the last thing you do. But Loki is too tired, too weak in too many ways, to deny himself this long-sought pleasure and to disappoint his brother. And so, instead, he goes willingly when Thor guides his chin back up and presses warm dry lips to the crease between Loki’s eyebrows, the cuts on the bridge of his nose and the edge of his jaw, his cheekbones, and his chapped lips before rubbing the tips of their noses together and finally releasing him. Sentiment, Loki realizes, for that last gesture was how they said goodnight as children.

Loki gives Thor a smile that’s equal parts bliss and devastation and whispers, “Thank you,” before he squares his shoulders, bows low, and turns to walk to Odin’s hall. He gets halfway through his third stride before Thor catches his left arm and halts him and Loki stares at him, exasperated.

“Thor, you have to let me-“

“I would stand by you in this.” 

And Loki can only nod his acceptance and link his arm with the one Thor offers as his throat rebels and threatens to strangle him. 

Thor has Mjolnir in his left hand. The storm from the bridge has followed them and with every step they take the thunderclaps grow louder. Loki’s trying not to smile. Or weep. His blood drums through his veins and throbs in his ears and his vision swims until he finds himself on one knee at the foot of the steps to the throne thinking And now the end begins. 

There is no audience, only Thor vibrating at his side, Odin on the throne, and Frigga, standing in her customary spot off to the side on a stair, damp eyes riveted to Loki’s face. And, somehow, it’s worse with her here - cruel even for Odin. Whatever Odin decides for him, Loki’s true punishment is knowing that she, too, will suffer for what he’s done. For who he is. 

And then Odin rises, and his sons follow suit, and Thor’s arm finds Loki’s again, and their grips tighten almost to the point of pain, and Loki is grateful beyond measure for the grounding solidity of his brother as the king speaks. 


	2. Delay

“Loki, my son, for your trespasses against the realms your answers shall be three. First: To open the way toward mending the peace that was broken between Asgard and Jotunheim, you shall aid in restoring the Bifrost. Second: That which by your actions you  destroyed, or caused to be destroyed, on Midgard, you shall repair. For these you will have nine days."

How perfect, Loki thinks. I shall erase all evidence of my existence before I am myself erased. And he hears Thor’s sharp intake of breath beside him as they wait for the axe to fall.

“When the sun sets on the ninth day, you shall begin your third task. For your betrayal of your own heart, you shall be unknown to all the realms until you are known to yourself.”

And Odin brings Gungnir down hard onto the floor, and their eardrums shrink from the sound, and the king sits and they stand. 

Loki is horrified, but he must hide it well, for Thor is rubbing his back and then, in a whispering blur of pale skirts, Frigga is there with her arms around him. His arms find their way around her without thought, and his face finds its way into her curls, and her perfume fills his head and speaks of home in a tongue known even to his bones.  

She leans back to look at him, the pads of her fingers cool against his sunken cheeks. And he smiles at her with all the warmth he can muster, catching tears with nimble fingers as they fall from her cheeks.

“Mother. Brother. My time is short and I’ve much to ask the All-Father before I begin. May I beg you to excuse us but a few moments?”

She nods and takes Thor’s arm and after the doors close behind them Loki manages to wait nearly ten seconds before he spins to face Odin.

“Do you know what you’ve done? Are you so presumptuous as to think I’d be foolish enough to seek knowledge of all that is without before I knew all that was within? Either the spell won’t work because I’ve already met its terms, or you’ve set me a task I’ve already chosen to fail. Why did you not sentence me to death?” 

“I cannot send my own son to his death. And I will not sit idly by as the lies you’ve woven around yourself become your shroud.”

Loki scoffs.

“The lies I’ve woven around myself?  Perhaps I was just finishing what you started!” Loki spits. “Why such haste to speak a sentence that contains a nine day delay in its execution? You know as well as I that the repairs to the Bifrost and Midgard will take but two or three days.”

Odin sags slightly.

“If I did not do it now, I knew I would lose my nerve, and I will not fail you again.”

Odin runs a hand over his face. 

“As to the delay, your mother would smother me in my sleep if she didn’t get to see you after all this time. And your brother would do worse than smother me.”

Loki is briefly distracted by thoughts of Mjolnir bedecked with bits of Odin’s thick skull before he scowls and brings himself to heel.

“What, precisely, are the conditions you’ve set down for me to meet?”

Odin shifts forward on the throne to bring his eye closer to those of his son, leaning on his staff with his right arm while his left rests on his knee. He takes a slow breath.

“The spell is cast, and it can only be undone from within. It is out of my hands. And it has not yet been broken. It is not enough that you keep this knowledge caged within you, if you possess it as you claim. It must have some expression beyond the limits of your skin. Your happiness must not be merely known, but pursued. A song transcribed on parchment is but a clumsy poem. It lives when given voice, child.”

Loki’s shoulders sag and he covers his face with his hands, shaking where he stands. When he speaks he sounds manic.

“My happiness? My heart’s desire? Really? How quaint. Do you know what I want? What I’ve always wanted? Why I don’t have it? Why I won’t have it? Why I’ve done all of this?”

Odin gives no answer and his eye betrays nothing.

“It’s Thor,” Loki whispers, defeated. “It’s always been Thor. I’ve done everything in my power to make him hate me and to make him stronger, and only half of it has ever worked. His forgiveness is insurmountable. He is more stubborn even than you. And I will not drag him down with me - with this weakness - do you understand? So I will linger in this limbo of yours. Was that your plan all along? You couldn’t kill me, but you could make me my own gaoler. Ah, yes, and so it’s my fault. Thor and Frigga can blame only me. Pity me and dismiss me for my failure. Oh, it’s perfect,” and Loki applauds before screaming, “Did you know, Father? Tell me! ”

Still Odin says nothing.  

“Good evening, All-Father.”  

Loki sinks onto one knee, covers his heart with a shaking fist, rises, and strides from the room.

He pauses in the hall and presses close against the wall, shifting briefly into Jotnar form, hoping the chill of that shape will have chased any lingering redness from his cheeks when he shifts back to his Aesir skin. Thor and Frigga are standing arm in arm at the end of the hall, framed by the tall doors that open onto one of her gardens, watching the gentle rain that is all that remains of Thor’s storm. He’s certain Thor will have plans for their evening, and his curiosity won’t let him rest until he knows them. He makes his way over to take Frigga’s free arm and she tugs him close against her side. They stand, letting the peach and coral tones of dusk and the patter of the rain soothe their nerves, savoring the scents of greenery, soil, and stone that have been awakened by the drumming water.  

When she senses her sons have calmed sufficiently she kisses them goodnight. 

“Go with your brother, and breakfast with me, regardless of when you wake.” 

“I will, thank you. Goodnight, Mother,” Loki answers.

“Rest well, my loves.”

Thor’s arms swing at his sides as they walk down golden halls to the gently curving stair that leads up to their rooms. Loki notes the looseness of his brother’s shoulders, the tilt of his eyebrows, the hint of a smile on his lips and realizes He thinks this is victory. Poor fool.  He hasn’t decided whether to tell Thor he isn’t going to play Odin’s game or just let his brother lose hope on his own. If he does tell him the truth he’ll have to do it at the last minute or the next nine days will be a battle, and he feels tired just thinking about it. 

Thor pauses with him by the door to his room. 

“Change into a robe and meet me back here in a moment.” 

Loki detects the faintest hint of a question mark at the end of that sentence. He nods his acceptance and Thor looks relieved.

Loki’s room hasn’t changed, which shouldn’t surprise him. He has never doubted his mother and brother’s love. Still, it’s a comfort. It’s his own. He wants to stroke the spines of every book on his shelves, so that they purr out little puffs of air bearing the faintly vanillic scent of their pages. Later, perhaps. 

He takes his armor off without magic, knowing Thor will be doing the same and not wanting to stand in the hall waiting for him. He examines each piece for damage and is pleasantly surprised by how little there is. He’ll duplicate the protections he placed on them on his brother’s armor when the brute isn’t looking. 

Loki rifles through his closet in search of a robe. He opts for the deep indigo, rather than the green or black - he’s in no mood for gold - and leaves the white linen one for morning, reassuring himself his choice has nothing to do with the color of his brother’s eyes. 

He meets Thor in the hall. His robe is a light blue-grey with embroidery of amber and green depicting Yggdrasil in lovely curving abstractions all down the back. Flocks of birds swell and turn along the edges of the garment. It is new and is unmistakably Frigga’s handiwork. The colors of the sea during a storm and of Loki’s eyes. Did he ask her for this?  Loki wonders. Did she do it because she missed me, or because he did? Are he and I so alike? Or is it coincidence? Perhaps he will ask Frigga when they breakfast if it’s still vexing him then. 

Thor motions toward the stairs and Loki realizes they are heading to the healers. 

“Shall we not bathe first? We are long overdue.”

“They’ve known worse. I’d like my bones made whole again so that I might enjoy my bath.”

“What? What bones have you broken? Why did you not have me mend them, you ass?”

Thor laughs.

“You are spent. You’ve not mended any of your own injuries. Be still. I am well enough.”

Loki can’t argue with him. They make their way down stairs, through corridors, and into the small room. The floor, walls, and furnishings are all of wood, stained a deep golden brown. The ceilings are low - close enough for Loki to touch without fully extending his arms - to keep the heat close to the floor. Thor slips off his robe and drapes it over the chair that sits between the two simple cots that have their heads against the left wall. He turns to reach for Loki’s robe, but Loki isn’t looking at him. He’s watching the fire burning in the hearth that takes up most of the right wall, wondering whether warmth is of any benefit to his body, or if it’s detrimental. Or both. Or neither. He thinks he should know by now. 

“Here. Your robe.”  

Loki hesitates briefly before frowning and shrugging it off into Thor’s waiting hands.  

“Oh,” Thor groans. “Was that by my hand?”  

Loki’s back is one enormous bruise, and Thor feels awful for hugging him so tightly earlier. Loki sighs.

“No. That’s from your green friend. These are yours,” and Loki turns.

There are bruises and abrasions on his every rib, the peaks of his hips, and his knees. And he’s thin in a way Thor’s never seen him. It’s not just that what little body fat he had to spare is gone. His muscles have wasted, too. All the pink has gone out of his skin and he looks so much older than he should.   

“You are starved.” 

Loki shrugs.

“There’s nothing to eat between the stars. And none of the beings I encountered showed any inclination toward hospitality.” 

Loki moves toward the door and pulls a small chain, ringing the bell that’s in the adjoining room, to summon the healer. They each seat themselves at the foot of a bed and wait. Thor wonders if Loki was fed at all on Midgard and is left with a sinking feeling. 

Halldis, the healer who comes to treat them, is stern and sturdy and has been caring for them for as long as they can remember. She has a small draught for each of them to drink. Thor’s tastes of iron, grass, and sunlight; Loki’s of apples, roses, and snow. The former downs his in one shot while the latter sips his, smiling softly and licking his lips often.

She starts on Thor, with a sigh and shake of her head, prodding and moving everything that will budge on him. Loki hears her “tsk” when she finds the wound he made in his brother’s side. He strains to hear which spells she’s speaking, watching each motion of her hands and Thor’s every reaction in order to catalogue the injuries Thor has kept hidden.  Chipped right shoulder-blade, fractures to his left forearm, a broken toe, a few muscle strains, and scraped skin. Nothing too serious. He is relieved and hopes his brother would not have concealed graver injuries from him, but he fears Thor is both strong and stupid enough to try. 

Now it’s Loki’s turn. Halldis is scowling and muttering as she moves her hands over him. When her face is level with his, they lock eyes, and neither can stifle their grin for long. Her skills, both at healing and keeping secrets, have kept him out of trouble with Frigga and Odin more times than he can count. She takes his face in her hands and kisses his forehead firmly before resuming her litany of disapproving grunts and ordering him face down on the bed to deal with the mess of his back. When she’s done, she smacks his behind and barks, “Eat!” before leaving them to dress.

Following orders is out of character for each of them, but they are ravenous, and Halldis will have their hides if they ignore her instruction, so to the kitchens they go.  

Dinner is over, but there is always food ready for the pages, maids, craftsmen, cooks, shifts of guards, and hundreds of others who make the existence of any palace possible. 

Thor leads the way deep into the kitchens, past the countertops where food sits ready and back by the ovens. He comes up behind a plump old woman, wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her cheek.

“My apprentice,” she laughs. 

And Loki realizes it’s Bergljot, Asgard’s head baker. She was old even when they were young. Thor has loved her for as long as he’s had teeth, delighting not only in what she makes but how she makes it. When he was small he’d sit for hours watching her kneading bread, rolling out pie crusts, pressing cookie dough into molds. It was the only thing that could keep him still. She let him try his hand at it and he showed a knack. She usually put him to work kneading bread, since he never tired and her shoulders and arms were glad of the break, or she’d send him over to the dairy maids to churn butter. Afterwards, Thor would come to Loki’s room with a plate piled high with the evidence of his efforts, flour spattered on his face and dough dried to his knuckles. And it was on the tip of Loki’s tongue to tease him. But he didn’t. Thor likely wouldn’t have noticed even if he had. His mind was always elsewhere. Thor still comes to the kitchens to think. Worry, really. To channel nervous or frustrated energy into something genuinely useful. 

The bread in Asgard has been magnificent since Loki fell. 

They bid goodnight to Bergljot, go back out to the nearly deserted dining hall, grab plates, and begin heaping them with fruits, meat pies, rolls, eggs, crocks of soup and stew, bread, cheeses, roasted vegetables, cakes, tarts, custards, slabs of butter, and four bottles of wine. When they’re done, they arrange the food on a plank for Thor to carry while Loki manages the doors and the wine.

They take it back up to Thor’s room, since it’s closest to the stairs, and the chairs at his table have cushions. Loki leaves his robe tied at the waist but opens the top and pulls it down to hang from his hips so he won’t be dragging his sleeves through his dinner. Thor sees the wisdom in this and follows suit. Loki sets all their plates up before their seats while Thor tugs the corks out of the wine bottles with his teeth and plunks them down on the table. As soon as they’re seated they descend on their food like locusts. Even Loki has forsaken flatware, pinching off bits of everything with his fingertips and popping them into his mouth as fast as he’s able, scooping up his stew with bread and drinking the soup from its dish.  

As ever, Loki has picked too many sweet things and Thor too many savory ones, so they steal food from each other’s plates to correct the imbalance. They don’t really speak, but hum and curse in satisfaction, moaning brazenly when they gulp wine directly from the bottles or suck custard from their fingers. Frigga would throttle them if she walked in.  

When they finish, they sprawl in their seats, panting. Loki feels warm and boneless; a boiled squid seated at a dining table. Eventually Thor gets up and inclines his head toward the doors to the balcony their rooms share, a question in his eyes. Loki nods in agreement and they resume their sprawling on a bench out in the cool evening air.  

“Hmmm. I should have dried this off before we sat on it.” 

“Sorry,” Thor laughs.

When they were little, they’d pretend the balcony was a fortress of clouds they were floating on, Asgard tiny below them. Then Thor learned to call storms down to him and, later, to fly with Mjolnir, and it was like having a wish granted. When he felt confident enough in his skill with the hammer, he took Loki up with him. Nothing since those flights with his brother has given Loki joy that is in any way comparable.  

Now Thor is clearing the air of a few stray clouds, granting the brothers an unhindered view of the stars. Ever the romantic, Loki thinks, His queen shall be happy beyond dreaming. His own heart twists in its cage. 

In the dark, Thor’s eyes turn jagged and black, and he looks like a creature of Loki’s imagining - wolfishly lovely and dangerous. Loki’s eyes are big and round and always reflect whatever light there is to be caught, and he illuminates the night much as he shades the day.   

By some unspoken agreement, they do not rise until they’ve seen two stars fall. 

“I’m for the bath,” Loki groans as he rises. “I don’t know how you’ve endured my company - I can barely stand next to myself.”  

Thor laughs softly and follows. Loki falls back to walk beside his brother, curious to see if Thor will take the lead, and where it will go if he does. He is uncertain of the particulars of Odin’s spell, so he will play it safe; if he leaves everything to Thor, nothing can be his fault.

They go through Thor’s room and out into the hall, but Thor doesn’t go straight to the door to the bath, which lies opposite and between the doors to their rooms. Instead, he turns left to shut and bolt the bronze doors at the top their stairway. Is he going to start a row?  Loki wonders. He’s not in the mood just yet. Midgard and Odin got it out of his system for at least three days. He raises an eyebrow in query as Thor makes his way back. 

“I do not wish to be disturbed. Nor do you, I suspect.” Loki nods and when Thor heads for the bath, he follows.  

It is one of Loki’s favorite rooms, all done in dark green marble except for the ceiling, which is of golden wood. And it smells the same as ever: water, stone, oak, herbs, oils, and a whisper of skin.   

They hang their robes from hooks and Loki takes two large linen towels from a shelf, sets them in a basket, and leaves it by the pool’s edge. Thor reaches into a glass jar for a small bundle of herbs and tosses it to the bottom of the basin before opening the gate for the water and closing the gate for the drain. He then grabs a comb, some soaps, and a few oils from a small cabinet, places them on a tray, and sets it within reach as he steps down into the bath.   

The pool is long enough that they can float on their backs in it and has two very deep steps which double as seats on the near side . When they were little, Frigga would fill it just over the lowest step and it would be up to their navels. Now, when filled  to the brim, the water still reaches their bellies; Loki likes that symmetry. The far side is flush with the back wall of the room and the water flows from a fixture in the shape of a serpent, mid-strike, cast in gold, and mounted high enough that they can stand under it. They have never been able to resist it and always climb into the tub long before it is full to enjoy the pressure  of the hot water as the snake vomits it onto them. Tonight is no exception, and Loki hops down to join Thor under the spray, the force of it stripping the grime from their hair and skin.

Thor steps back to grab some soap and laughs. 

“You look like a cat left out in the rain.”   

Loki lifts his head to fill his mouth with water and spits it at Thor before moving out from under the stream to appraise his brother. 

“You look like you should be perched on a rock in a stormy sea, combing your golden hair and luring handsome sailors to happy deaths with sad songs.”

Thor laughs again.

“No cat ever had a tongue like yours.”

Loki finds himself pleased with this compliment.

They look at each other without any embarrassment. They’ve bathed together all their lives. Watched each other grow up. And they are gods; their bodies are marvelous. And Loki is nearing the end of the race. He can pretend Thor doesn’t make the blood sing in his veins for a few more days. He behaves - lies - as he always has: with the truth, arching an eyebrow and throwing teasing glances his brother’s way. And Thor smirks, and splashes him, and raises his eyebrows as the situation warrants.  

Thor looks so different without his armor. Mjolnir has had her way with his arms, but the rest of him is so slim; almost delicate in places. 

Loki’s eyes sprint over Thor’s body, doing an inventory of the parts that qualify as fragile.  Eyes, eyelids, nose, lips, tongue, ears, throat, collarbones, nipples, elbows, wrists, fingers, waist, belly, penis, testicles, anus, kneecaps, tendons, ankles, toes. He wonders, briefly, if  hairshould go on the list, since it’s so easily damaged, but its loss causes no pain and it readily grows back, so he dismisses it. Sentiment, he chides himself.

He wants to spin armor from spider silk, softer than skin and stronger than steel, to protect Thor’s vulnerabilities. 

Or perhaps he could keep Thor in his room, where they would dine every evening as they had tonight and pass their days in each other’s arms. Loki wonders how their forms would change as they were reshaped by sex. Would Thor’s muscles become lean like his own? Would their knees get calloused where they rubbed against the cushions and the stone floors? Would their skin grow paler under the sheets? He has no idea, and he hates his ignorance.

Thor has been compiling his own lists since he first saw his brother’s underfed form at the healer’s. He’s sifting through his memories in search of foods to which his brother is partial.  

bread (the sweeter, the better) 

butter (that will be easy and helpful) 

marchpane 

honey 

pears 

apples 

berries 

grapes 

peaches 

cheese 

squash (roasted with butter, sugar, and nuts until it is very nearly candied) 

anything that features cream prominently 

cookies (with spices, honey, and almonds) 

pies and cakes of any kind 

cherry tarts 

that very sweet beef stew they make when he asks for it 

chocolates from Asgard’s confectioner 

And he’s ranking ways to touch the lovely, prickly, affection-starved god in order from those least likely to be rejected to those with the potential to result in fratricide. 

pat him on the back 

elbow him gently 

clasp him by the back of the neck 

nudge him with your hip 

straighten his hair 

muss his hair 

smack his pert little behind 

sit close enough that your legs are touching 

offer him your arm 

pinch him 

take his arm 

put an arm around his shoulders 

run a hand down his spine 

put your arm around his waist 

hug him for as long as he’ll let you 

pick him up and spin around with him in your arms 

wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his cheek or shoulder 

rub the tips of your noses together 

kiss the first bone of his spine when he’s bent over a book 

tickle his ribs above his hips 

give his shoulders a rubdown 

kiss him on the forehead 

take his hand as you walk 

kiss the corner of his mouth 

ambush him in his bed and twine yourself around him like ivy 

run your fingers through his hair and over his scalp for hours 

dance with him 

kiss all of his knuckles and the tips of his fingers 

crush him to your breast and kiss everything you can reach until he stops you 

haul him down astride your lap, tear his tunic and press your lips over his heart 

And Thor could go on, but he won’t. Picking at a wound never did it any good.

Loki moves to the edge of the bath to shut the water off before it spills over, lingering to peruse the soaps and oils Thor set out for them. Thor decides to test the limits of his brother’s tolerance for affection, calibrate the scales so he’ll know where he stands. He reaches past Loki to the tray and takes up a small bottle. 

“Cup your hands.”

Loki huffs but does as he’s told, and Thor pours soap into them.

“You can deal with your hair while I do your back.”  

Loki says nothing but tips his head down and starts lathering his scalp, so Thor takes that as permission. He grabs a bar of soap he knows Loki favors. It smells of citrus and herbs and Thor has been using it ever since Loki fell; it fools some simple part of his brain into thinking his brother is standing beside him. He wets the soap and runs it over Loki’s back in broad strokes before spinning it between his hands and setting it back on the tray. Loki’s hair is in a heap of suds atop his head and his eyes are closed to keep out the sting, but he braces his hands on the edge of the pool and waits, so Thor continues. 

Thor’s hands mirror each other on either side of Loki’s spine and he finds the symmetry pleasing, almost hypnotic. He presses his thumbs together in the center, running them down Loki’s backbone like it’s a rail while his fingers fan out to the sides like wings. The way his digits catch on Loki’s ribs worries Thor, and he wants to dunk Loki, roughly scrub him dry, and haul him straight back to the kitchen. But things are calm between them, and he doesn’t want to be the one to break this peace, so he lets it go. 

Thor is massaging Loki’s muscles as much as washing his skin, and his definition of back  is rather generous; it extends to the entirety of the neck and arms, the collarbones, the armpits, and the flanks. Loki jumps a bit when Thor’s fingers knead into the lightly furred skin under his arms, but he voices no complaint. Still ticklish, Thor thinks, smiling.  

When his hands cannot reasonably linger any longer Thor squeezes Loki’s left shoulder. 

“There. Good as new.”

And Loki drops under the water and shakes his head, his hair floating in inky arcs around his face and neck, water growing milky with the suds. Then he’s up, looking as sleek as a spear, taking the soap and climbing the stairs to sit on the edge of the bath and scrub his pale chest, long legs and narrow feet.

He will look like a colt all his life on those legs,  Thor thinks, or hopes, as he begins his own bath, fingers sliding through a froth of blond and bubbles, eyes closed. Loki takes  this opportunity to divert his gaze from his own toes to his brother’s waist. Thor is shaped like his hammer: long and narrow, broadening abruptly at the top into something deadly and impossible. He feels a twinge of sympathy for Frigga at having given birth to those shoulders. 

Look at him. How has he not wasted away before a mirror? How has some great beast of being not tossed my gorgeous golden brother into a sack and spirited him away? There is no sense in these realms, Loki decides, disgusted, and more than a little relieved. 

Thor joins him at the edge of the tub, soaping himself everywhere in a flurry of bubbles. Loki would love to repay Thor in kind, scrubbing those ridiculous arms and shoulders, the inviting nip of the waist, and the small of his brother’s back, but he can’t trust his fingers near all that lovely flesh. Thor jumps down into the water, splashing messily. Loki finishes soaping himself and takes the comb from the tray before following his brother. He has his hair in good order while Thor is still floating aimlessly in the pool, and Loki wants to take advantage of Thor’s position and scoop him up in his arms like a maiden. He wants to carry all that clean skin back to his room and drop it on his bed like a cat would a mouse. A gift to himself. 

When Thor finally stands he sees Loki’s thick black locks curling away from the neat order into which they have been combed. 

“Could I trouble you to do mine?” Thor asks.

And Loki rolls his eyes, but his hands are already reaching for Thor’s hair.

Once he has Thor’s blond waves untangled and neatly combed he grabs the smallest bottle from the tray, puts a drop of oil into his hands and rubs it into Thor’s hair from the tips up to the roots, giving the scalp a quick massage before repeating the treatment on his own rapidly-curling mop.

Thor pulls the drain open and they climb out of the pool, grabbing their towels and slowly patting themselves dry. He picks up the tray and takes the only unused bottle from it, handing it to Loki. 

“Here. For your skin.”

“What is it?” Loki asks.

“Almond oil. Halldis gave it to me after I took up Mjolnir. The wind and sun were tearing me to tatters. It feels wonderful and it smells delicious. Like marchpane.”

Loki rubs it into his skin and hums his approval. 

“You’ve been keeping this from me for as long as you’ve had that blasted hammer? I shall have to devise a fitting punishment for that betrayal, brother.”

“Dream one up while you’re sleeping, trickster. You are dead on your feet.”

Loki huffs a laugh and they pad out into the hall, towels around their shoulders to catch the stray water dripping from their hair, warm bare feet quietly slapping the cold stone floor. Loki has made it into his room before it occurs to him that Thor should have turned right out of the bath to go to his own room, but instead he’s been a step behind Loki the whole time. I must be as exhausted as I look, Loki thinks. We have to part at some point.  He waves his fingers and the lamps in his room spark to life. The words Goodnight, Thor are waiting on his tongue, but Thor is pointing to Loki’s table and wearing a smile whose beauty is somehow made richer by how tired he looks. Why, when I have him in my room in naught but his skin, am I still drawn to his smile as a moth to flame? Loki wonders, as he goes to investigate Thor’s discovery. 

“She must have left them while we were in the kitchens.”

Thor grunts his agreement and urges Loki forward, pressing fingertips between his shoulder blades.

There sits a note, in Frigga’s flowing hand, propped up between two of Idunn’s apples:  

“Eat one of these before bed. Give the other to your brother and tell him to do the same. You will wake refreshed after dreams as sweet as their flesh. 

I shall see you at breakfast. Bring an enormous appetite.”

Did she know Thor would be standing beside me?  Loki wonders. He suspects she did. It’s possible she feared they’d be fighting and wanted Loki to take the apple to Thor as a peace offering, but he thinks the former option is more likely.

Loki hands the note and an apple to Thor and then bites into his own. And he had forgotten how good this is. It’s tart and crisp and he feels better already. The ache of healing tissue in is back is fading and the fatigue he felt down to his marrow has morphed into a sleepy warmth. 

Thor’s grin is almost indecent.

“What are you so happy about? Surely you’ve had your fill of these in my absence.”

“Aye, but I’ve not had one of Mother’s dreaming spells since I was a child.”

Loki nods and they sit at his table. It is hard, smooth, and black, as are the chairs, and they are impervious to most magic. Mjolnir could probably smash them, but they don’t burn or melt. Loki supposes he could set cushions on the seats. Thor doesn’t seem bothered. 

They lean back, looking at the ceiling. Loki enchanted it years ago to mimic the appearance of the sky above it. Right now it’s full of stars. The only other spells he placed on his room are for privacy: a concealing spell (this extends to their entire hall), to hide him from even Heimdall’s long gaze, and a type of gatekeeping spell. Thor, Frigga, and himself are able to come and go, but no others. Odin probably knows a way around the magic, or could break it, but something tells Loki he has never tried. Thor could probably smash his way through with his hammer if Loki locked him out, which is exactly why he didn’t; it wouldn’t do to have his books and potions wrecked. 

This means the maids can’t get in either - even with the doors open, if they step on the threshold they will always find themselves spun 180 degrees and walking back into the hall. Loki likes his secrets, and his room doesn’t need cleaning; there is very little dust on Asgard. Their fabrics don’t disintegrate and their skin doesn’t fall from them like snow without very good cause. Loki was appalled when he realized that the dust on Midgard is composed largely of skin. At the same time, he was almost impressed with the humans for bearing up so well in the face of such a messy and constant reminder of their mortality.

Loki notices that Thor has finished his apple and is staring at him, so he lifts an eyebrow in inquiry. Thor takes a deep breath. 

“I knew you were alive. Not right away. I mourned and raged and went to pieces in my room. Saw no one. Not even Mother. I was beastly. For all of summer. Then autumn came and…” Thor shakes his head and looks back up at the ceiling, shy, somehow, but not  stopping. “I went out riding. The grass was still green under the gold in the trees, as though the woods were wearing your colors. And the days would swing from hot to cold. From light to dark. It all reminded me of you.” 

Thor overcomes his wish to hide and looks Loki in the eye before continuing, and Loki has to fight the urge to run. 

“And I missed you so much it was like poison. Came in here and collapsed on your bed. I could smell you on the sheets. On your pillow. Like you never left. Turned onto my back to sleep. And I saw the stars on your ceiling. Enchantments break when their sorcerer dies. Even I know that much. And I was so happy, and so angry with you.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

Thor laughs.

“I didn’t have to. Our parents knew as soon as they saw my face. And I couldn’t be sure they hadn’t known all along. You know how they are.”

“Too right.”

Loki can see Thor steeling himself for something. 

“Why did you let g-“ 

“No!” 

And Loki says it so harshly Thor flinches, and Loki didn’t want that. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

“Not yet. I owe you apologies and answers, and you shall have as many as I can give. And soon. But not tonight. Sleep. Please, Thor. See what dreams Mother has made you.”

Thor nods.

“Will you wake me? Whenever you wake, if I’ve not yet risen?”

“Yes, but first you’ll have to go to sleep.”

Thor rolls his eyes. Loki rises and shoos his brother from the room.

“All right, all right. But follow your own advice.”

“I couldn’t stay awake if I wanted to,” Loki admits. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Loki closes his door, flicks a finger to open the doors to the balcony, pinches the air to extinguish his lamps, drops his towel to the floor, and climbs into bed.  

He has missed it. It’s large and low to the ground with a frame like a saucer - though more oval than round - narrower at the base and swelling out as it rises, glossy black and adorned with swirling carvings. The heap of pillows on the side nearest the balcony is the only indicator of where one’s head is meant to go, for the bed frame itself is symmetrical. The mattress is like a nest, slightly depressed in the center from the weight of Loki’s sleeping form for the millennium he has spent here, but its softness is undiminished. It’s stuffed with down at the top and the fluffy heads of wildflowers gone to seed at the bottom, with a layer of gossamer to keep them distinct. He sighs aloud as he tucks himself between linen sheets, pushing the silk quilt Frigga made when he was a baby and the furs he has accumulated on hunts into a heap at the foot of the bed. I don’t suppose I shall be needing them again, he realizes, drifting into honeyed dreams.

……… 

Thor sits on his bed, pressing his still-damp hair between the towel one last time before dropping it to the floor. He is fighting an uphill battle against the heaviness of his eyelids. 

Where Loki’s bed is all low inviting curves and softness, Thor’s is all imposing height and angles. Built into the wall between two enormous closets, it has a lowered ceiling over it that is vaulted, carved, covered in gold leaf, and visible only from the mattress. The mattress itself is a rectangular cushion of heavy linen stuffed tightly with the cottony tops of bulrushes. Thor keeps his bed linens folded neatly, with tight creases at the corners. He likes the way the crisp lines of the sheets disguise the softness of the bed - like armor. Heavy curtains are gathered at each end of the alcove and can be drawn shut to keep out the daylight when he has no stomach for sun. Altogether, the thing has always reminded Thor of a tomb, but he likes that about it. It feels safe. A promise that he will be undisturbed. By others, anyway. Only his own thoughts can hound him here.  

I have nine days, and eight nights between them, before he is lost to me again for I know not how long. And Loki is so stubborn, Thor thinks, worried for the first time. This would be the ninth night.

And, rather than waffle and risk falling asleep, he rises and moves out onto the balcony, finds Loki’s doors already open, and walks into his brother’s starlit room. 

Loki is curled on his left side, facing the cold hearth in their shared wall, only a sheet over him. Asleep already. The little owl was tired indeed, Thor thinks. He weighs his options. If I sneak into his bed now I’ll have peace until he wakes, at which point he might strangle me. If I wake him now and ask permission we’ll be on good terms tomorrow, but he might say no. Giving up and going back to his room never occurs to him. 

Thor grimaces. He doesn’t want to risk Loki being angry with him. He’s probably going to throttle me for this anyway, he thinks, and what in the realms am I going to say? He leans forward and reaches for his brother’s pale shoulder before he can make himself an answer.

“Loki?” 

Loki jerks and turns over. Thor sits on the edge of the bed, left leg folded up under him, right foot on the floor, hands on his knees. 

“Thor? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry I startled you.”

“Have I slept long?” Loki is alarmed by the possibility that six days have passed and Thor has been sent to wake him in time to complete the repairs.

“No, mere minutes.”

Thor gives no reason for his visit and Loki squints at him in the dark for several seconds before his mind catches up.  

He is reasonably certain this will have no impact on Odin’s spell. He’ll have to watch his limbs and tongue, loosened and happy as they are now, full of healing magic and a magnificent meal. But he’s so tired he knows he’s safe from himself. He’ll hoard these few treasures he’s able to smuggle through the threads of Odin’s sorcery. Save them for the impending drought.

“Very well,” Loki sighs, turning the sheet back in invitation as he twists onto his side.

And Thor slides in behind him, sinking into the softness of the strange bed and pale linens, soaking in the warmth they have stolen from Loki’s skin. 

“Thank you,” Thor whispers, thinking Keep Valhalla. Give me this. 

Loki hums, half gone.


	3. Day One

It’s late morning when Loki wakes. He opens his eyes and sees only pale blue. It’s the brain’s brief lapse into honesty before it remembers itself, seeing what the eyes take in before knowing what it is they see. In a moment it will become a warm off-white color as Loki realizes he is looking at the linen sheets of his own bed. But, right now, he sees them as they truly appear: blue in the cool light of morning.

He hasn’t moved at all in his sleep. It feels like the skin on his back is dancing and he’s embarrassed by how long it takes him to remember his brother is in his bed, and to realize Thor is drawing on his back with his fingertips. 

Let me die now, just like this, he prays.  

Loki remains still, not wanting to break whatever spell brought him here, trying to decipher Thor’s designs. He’s reasonably certain the first one he noticed was The Tree. Now Thor is outlining the muscles of the back, and then the bones, before flattening his hand and rubbing it across all of Loki’s skin, as though his fingertips had left marks to erase. Loki laughs.  

“How long have you known I was awake?”  

“Since your breathing changed. I think I knew you were awake before you did.”  

Thor resumes his designs with something like a braid running the length of Loki’s spine. His voice is still thick and rough with sleep and Loki has to suppress a shiver at the richness of the sound as it buzzes against the back of his neck.  

“I’m sure of it. How long have you been drawing on my back?”  

“Since I woke,” Thor answers.  

“And when was that?”  

“Mmmm. Half an hour ago, perhaps.”  

“Did we sleep one night, or many?”  

“I think just one, but I can’t swear to it.”  

“Hmmm.”  

“Shall I fetch a page and ask the day?”  

Loki yawns.  

“No, not yet. Keep drawing.”  

And Thor grins and obeys. Loki is drinking up his affections like a sponge. He hasn’t been this receptive since they were boys. And Thor is torn between joy at these touches and sorrow at how desperately his brother must need them, how long he has lacked them.  

Thor draws Loki’s helmet and the bent wings of a falcon in a dive before moving on to something Loki can’t decipher.  

“What’s this one?”  

“The constellations,” Thor murmurs.  

Loki doesn’t recognize them.  

“Whose?”  

“Yours.”  

“What?”

“Your freckles,” Thor explains.  

“Oh. And what do they depict?”  

“I’ve found a serpent, a wolf, and a woman so far.”  

“That’s plenty, I think.”  

Loki stretches and rolls over to face Thor. 

Thor’s mouth opens in surprise before it splits into a grin and he reaches up to brush Loki’s hair from his face.  

“What? My curls? I’ll deal with them later.”  

“No, not that, and leave them alone, they suit you.”  

Loki wrinkles his nose.

“Then what is it?”  

Thor only shakes his head.  

“Thor.”  

“Come here.”

And Thor is up, taking Loki by the hand and half dragging him over the mattress before grabbing him by the shoulders and steering him across the room. Thor stops in front of the full length mirror in the corner by the closet.   

“Look.”  

Loki does. And he sees why Thor was stunned. He looks young. As young as he looked before he fell. Perhaps younger, due to the curls. Skin smooth and touched with tones of rose and peach. Eyes clear. And he sees Thor’s face over his shoulder, beaming at him. Thor’s own shoulders, sides, and arms visible around his slight frame.   

We are as different as the night from the day, Loki thinks, and wonders why they never concluded he was a foundling based on their looks alone.  

“The red’s gone out of your eyes and back into your cheeks and lips where it belongs. And look how full your cheeks are.”   

Thor is pinching them lightly, reddening them further. Loki smacks his hands away.  

“I’m sure you’re hiding a babe’s face beneath that bloody beard.”  

Thor laughs.   

“Perhaps I’ll visit the barber and we’ll find out.”  

“Yes, do.”  

Loki dislikes Thor’s beard. It covers Thor’s face, and he thinks that’s a shame. Thor’s skin and bones are beautiful, and the fullness of his upper lip - the way it always looks like it’s pouting, or asking to be kissed - occupies a lofty position on the list of things Loki secretly loves.  

Thor hooks his chin over Loki’s shoulder and scowls into the mirror, shaking his head in disapproval.  

“What now?” Loki moans.  

“You are thin yet. We still need to fill you in right here.”  

And Thor punctuates the last word by digging his fingertips into Loki’s ribs, eliciting laughter that’s half shriek. Loki dodges left and dashes toward his bed, leaping into it and winding the quilt and furs around himself for protection before flopping face down on the mattress in his cocoon.   

“Those won’t save you.”  

And Thor lunges for the bed and gathers Loki up easily - he’s already wound into a neat little bundle by the blankets, which have tied his arms to his breast and bound his legs together. Thor forces his right arm down under and around Loki’s chest and pins Loki’s legs between his own. Then he rolls over so Loki is belly-up on top of him and uses his left hand to probe for weaknesses. It doesn’t take long. Loki’s left flank is entirely ticklish, and his coverings aren’t thick enough to dull the drilling of Thor’s fingers. 

Loki is squealing and wriggling and giggling so hard he can barely speak. Initially he manages, “Thor, stop!"  and then a stream of, “Nononononononooo,” but that rapidly deteriorates into, “Eheheheheheee,” followed by embarrassing squeaks, and culminating in strained wheezing.

When Loki is a silently vibrating mess of clenched laughter in his arms Thor finally releases him and they collapse. Eventually Thor rolls over and begins tugging Loki free from his wrappings. They reveal a panting and sweaty god of mischief with an explosion of disordered black curls framing his flushed and grinning face.   

“I dare you to breakfast with Mother looking like this.”  

“Just like this?” Loki cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head toward his still very much naked form. “Or should I wear a robe?”  

Thor’s eyes widen briefly before shutting tight as he dissolves into laughter, taking Loki apart with him. When he finally calms, he sits up and wipes his eyes on his arm.  

“I think you’d better.”  

Loki is still on his back twitching beside him.  

“I don’t know. I’d be robbing her of the full effect.”  

Thor snorts.  

“She’ll forgive you.” 

Thor turns and kneels, taking Loki’s arm and pulling him up to sit face to face, thinking they should get up and get on with this day, though he’d rather hide away in here. Loki folds his legs under him to mirror his brother, rests his left hand on his knee, and leans forward, reaching to straighten Thor’s hair with his right hand. It’s full of waves and kinks from Thor sleeping on it while it was wet. It looks lovely.  

“You look different, too,” Loki says.  

“From the apple and the sleep?”  

Loki shakes his head.  

“Before that.”  

Thor’s brow wrinkles and he looks down at himself, hair falling around his face and obscuring his view.  

“Mmmm. This mane is rather long.”  

Loki threads his fingers into Thor’s hair at the temple and pushes it back past Thor’s ear. Thor closes his eyes to better feel his brother’s fingers.  

“Aye, but that’s not all. You’re thinner. Even your arms are leaner. Your skin is paler. And your hair, eyebrows, and beard are darker; they have not been bleached golden by the sun. You haven’t been flying with Mjolnir for some months, then. You’ve been in the dark. Underground or indoors.”   

Loki cups his brother’s cheek, gives a gentle squeeze, and Thor opens his eyes.

“Have you been ill?” Loki whispers, mouth closing into a tight line, eyes and nostrils wide.  

You sent the destroyer to kill me a year ago, you dropped me from the sky and put a blade in me mere days ago, and now you’re on the verge of tears at the thought of me in sickness, Thor boggles. But he’ll press Loki about that later.  

“No, not ill, really. I have been indoors. Ever since I saw your ceiling. I’ve been in the libraries.”  

“What were you seeking?”  

Thor shakes his head and huffs as though the answer is obvious.  

“I sought you. I read star charts. Scoured maps of all the realms and all their skies. Devoured the drafts for the Bifrost. Ate up every scrap and rumor and fantasy about Yggdrasil. Anything. But I could not track you, and without the Bifrost I could hardly look.”  

Thor looks defeated and Loki’s stomach does any ugly turn inside him at the thought of what’s to come. He hates Odin for this delay. For giving him something he’ll always miss. For letting him bask in his brother’s warmth to make his exile that much colder. He’s certain it’s part of the All-Father’s plan; he’s letting Thor get hurt because it will wound Loki. And it scares him to think Odin could be so cruel. Thor’s only crime is that he cares for Loki, and Odin has turned that into a blade to cut them both.  

“Oh,” is all the answer Loki can muster, and he lowers himself down onto his side.

Thor follows. Loki fingers Thor’s ribs and Thor could swear he feels every ridge of Loki’s fingerprints against his skin. 

“Are you mad Halldis robbed you of your scar?”  

Thor looks and there is no evidence of the wound from Loki’s knife.  

“No. Are you?”  

Loki doesn’t answer, but keeps swirling chilled fingertips over Thor’s heated skin. 

Thor’s eyes can’t get their fill of Loki. They never could. He finds the perpetually sad tilt of Loki’s right eyebrow mesmerizing. Loves the sharp line of his jaw. The brilliance of his eyes. The flawless expanse of flesh over his fine bones.   

“You have Mother’s skin,” Thor blurts out, instantly regretting it. He pinches his lips closed between his teeth and shuts his eyes tight, waiting to be slapped or punched or screamed at. When nothing happens he opens his eyes.  

“I’m a Frost Giant,” Loki says coldly, but his nostrils give a familiar twitch and then he’s laughing.  

“Oh, your face. It was perfect.”  

Thor sighs, relieved and grateful, and wonders if Halldis’s magic worked on Loki’s mind.  

“Sorry,” Thor says. “I meant no harm.”  

“Nor have you done any. And I suspect you are right in a sense. Odin gave me this skin. Why not copy the flesh he knows and loves better than his own? Make me hers in some way.” 

Loki shifts onto his back and twists his hair around the fingers of his right hand. He has always done this when something is troubling him. Thor wants to distract him.  

“What dreams did she send you last night?”  

Loki drops the curl he was worrying and turns back toward Thor, thin lips hinting at a smile. He reaches for Thor’s hair again, twirling and rearranging it before drawing the features of Thor’s face with feather-light touches.  

“They were beautiful things.”  

“Aye,” Thor nods.  

Loki finally tugs himself free from the dreamy web he and Thor have been lazing in. He hoists Thor out of his bed and gives him a shove toward the balcony doors.   

“I’m going,” Thor chuckles. “Calm yourself.”  

Loki retrieves his towel from the floor and whips a red line onto Thor’s ass.  

“Ah! Be gentle with me - I’m very old.”  

“Mmmm. I did notice an awful lot of grey when I combed your hair,” Loki teases.  

“They’re your children.”  

Loki huffs a laugh through his nose.  

“Meet me in my room when Mother’s done with you,” Thor calls over his shoulder.  

“What are you scheming? I can hear the wheels turning. Or one very rusty wheel, anyway.”  

“You’ll see.”  

“Norns save us.” 

Loki goes out to the hall, cracks the door to the stairway and calls for a page. He asks the day, surprised and pleased to find it’s Wednesday. They did sleep only one night. He sends word to his mother that he’ll be joining her soon and then reacquaints himself with his books for a moment before heading to the closet. 

………. 

Loki arrives at Frigga’s chambers and knocks.  

“Mother? May I come in?”

She uses a threshold spell that will admit others only with her spoken permission. It kept Thor and Loki from playing with her things - kohl, rouge, clothing, jewelry, and perfumes - and from spoiling her weavings and embroidery. After the first time.   

“Yes, come.”  

He opens the door, smiling. Her rooms have more tapestries, rugs, and upholstery than any others in the palace. Loki loves the wealth of textures here, the warmth and softness.  

“I thought you might sleep another day yet. I could scarcely believe it when the page arrived.”  

Loki has taken Thor’s dare seriously, wearing nothing but his robe with his hair still wild, feet bare. She is amused, but tries not to show it, because those are the rules. She can’t be seen to approve; it’s not mischief if it’s sanctioned.  

She sets her embroidery down beside her on the couch and rises to kiss him, patting his cheek and squeezing his arm afterward.  

She has a marvelous breakfast laid out on the table beside her. Fruits, eggs, smoked meats, and pastries that melt on the tongue - like butter suspended between layers of toasted air.   

“You look well.”  

She arranges his hair while he tries not to squirm.  

“Thank you. And thank you for the apple. And the dreams.”  

“You are welcome. I think they did you good, if I do say so myself.”  

“Aye.”  

“Come. Eat.”  

Frigga sits and resumes her embroidery. She knows he will answer her questions by asking his own. He takes the chair nearest her, scooting it closer to the low table. He pours water for each of them and then sets one of his bare feet over one of her slippered ones, squeezing it with long toes and leaving it there. She smiles. He tries not to. He twists a grape from its stem and then pauses.  

“Are you not eating?”  

“No, dear, I ate hours ago. You are to clear these plates all by yourself.”  

He does so obediently while she sews. 

She knots a thread and cuts the excess off with a tiny knife before turning her work over in her hands. Loki pops the last currant into his mouth and Frigga looks up, smiling.  

“Shall we walk in the gardens?”  

Loki nods. They rise and she holds her work out toward him.  

“Put this on first.”  

“Really? Thank you.”

It’s a robe. Blue, like Thor’s eyes and his Jotnar skin, darkening to indigo at the edges, with Yggdrasil on the back and deer bounding along all the hems in silver thread.   

“I saw Thor’s last night. They’re both beautiful. Our eyes?”  

“Yes. Clever thing. Thor got it too, but it took him a day.” 

She shows him where rabbits and birds are nesting in roses and under hedges. The ground is cold and spongey beneath his naked feet. It is early spring in Asgard. Loki will be sad to miss the rest of it. Little is blooming now, but there are buds are everywhere. 

“How is my brother?”  

Frigga laughs softly.  

“You could try asking him, darling.”  

“I know. I might.”  

Frigga laughs and gives a slight shrug of her shoulders.  

“He’s delighted. Frightened. Sad. Hopeful. Far from mended. I think he would not have you out of his sight for centuries if he could manage it. How did you get away?”  

“Reddened his backside with a towel.”  

Frigga bites her lip.  

“He was much changed in your absence.”  

“I caught a glimpse last night. On the bridge, after we arrived.”  

“Be careful with him. The days to come will open old wounds and deliver new ones.”  

Loki nods.

“And be careful with yourself,” she says, tapping his nose. “And be happy. And hurry home.”  

She doesn’t wait for a response, but takes his arm as they go back inside. He kisses her cheek and thanks her again before returning to his room. 

……… 

Thor waits outside the throne room. His attire reflects his hope; he is dressed for labor in a pale linen tunic, chestnut leggings, and low boots of suede, his hair tied back with a length of leather cord. Odin is merciful and doesn’t keep him waiting long. 

………

Loki hangs his new robe carefully and looks through his closet for something to wear. He’s stepping into buckskin leggings when his door opens.  

“Damn it, Thor, I haven’t forgotten about you, I’m dressing.”  

Thor takes a seat at Loki’s table and looks at the cloudless ceiling, smiling.  

“Dare I ask what you’re so happy about?”  

Loki pulls on a dark grey tunic and then ties his hair back while he waits for Thor’s answer.  

“I asked Father if you’re allowed any aid in completing your tasks.”  

“Ah.”  

“He said yes.”  

“Yes, I got that much from your face. Why?”  

“The repairs will be finished sooner. We’ll have more time-”

Loki laughs coldly.  

“Less work is not the same as more time. What’s he after? What does he want me to do with this boon of leisure. Did he tell you anything?”   

Thor shakes his head.  

“No, but he was not angry. He’s not your enemy, brother, he lo-“  

"Don't" 

Thor presses his lips together and hopes he hasn’t done any permanent damage to the day. He can’t afford it. Fool, he chides himself, You should know better than to mention Father. 

“How was your breakfast?” Thor tries.  

Loki takes a seat at the table, lacing up light boots that match the leggings.  

“Mother gave me a robe. Like yours. When did she start them?”  

“After I knew you lived. She was draping the silk over forms the next day.”  

“Mmmm. How was your own breakfast?”  

“I forgot it.”  

Loki’s eyebrows briefly ascend.  

“Well. There really is a first time for everything. Perhaps we can stop by the kitchens on our way to the stables. But now I need to speak with Odin.”  

And it’s Thor’s turn to look surprised.  

“I’m not going to hide from him for nine days like a scolded child,” Loki says. 

Loki rises and they leave his room. At the bottom of the stairs they find Elif waiting for them. He has been one of their pages since they left youth. Loki smiles - his real smile, warm and wide - upon seeing him.  

“Ah, Elif, I had hoped you were still with us. I didn’t recognize the last page I called.”  

“Aye, my lord, the others departed when you did.”  

Loki looks at Thor. Thor looks at his feet for a moment before meeting Loki’s gaze.   

“I told you. I was wretched. Elif was the only one who could put up with me.”  

Thor turns to Elif and squeezes the page’s shoulder.  

“And I am grateful. You were a rare light in a dark time.”  

Elif thanks him, blushing at the praise, and they turn to walk to the throne.  

When they are out of earshot of any royal guards Loki inclines his head to Elif.

“Have you kept up with your studies?”  

“Aye, my lord, I am nearly halfway through the book you lent me.”  

Loki claps him on the back.  

“That is no easy text. You are moving quickly. I suppose my absence and Thor’s sulking afforded you no shortage of free time.”  

Thor huffs and smacks Loki’s arm.  

Elif laughs.  

“Aye, my prince.” 

Where most were made nervous, and some repulsed, by Loki’s magic, Elif was only ever delighted. When Loki realized the lad was as trustworthy as Thor, he began offering him tips here and there, and, later, lending him scrolls and volumes. Elif surpassed his expectations. Loki suspects he’d make a tremendous healer. He reminds himself to recommend the lad to Halldis some time in the next nine days so that his instruction may continue. 

………  

Thor’s fondness for Elif extends beyond Loki’s fall. Years ago, at Mabon, the page played an unwitting part in bringing his brother closer to him. Thor realizes that he should, by that logic, share the same gratitude with Snorre, a nobleman from the south, but he doesn’t and won’t.  

Thor had been enjoying the feast with his friends and his brother, all of them seated together at a table next to that of Odin and the nobles who’d gathered. It had been Elif’s first feast, having only waited on the princes privately prior to this. Loki could sense and sympathize with Elif’s nerves and made a point to distract him and whisper words of encouragement.   

Thor was delighted with Loki’s distractions. They were lovely little bits of magic. Loki had all the water in the room emitting a faint white glow, he had glamoured Frigga’s hair to look gilded, and illusions in the form of green swallows were singing and dipping their wings into the tabletops. Thor could hear Loki’s lovely voice, softened further by mead, as he spoke to the page.  

“I know these spells seem silly, but magic will always show you something. See the table full of ladies? When the swallow dives, don’t watch the bird, watch the women.”  

Both Elif and Thor had followed Loki’s instruction.  

“See,” Loki whispered, “how some scowl or swat at it, or roll their eyes? The magic is so simple, they think it harmless. And they give themselves away.”  

“The two women at the end smiled and followed its flight, my lord.”  

“Aye, that was a pleasant surprise. There is hope for Asgard yet,” and Loki winked. 

While they’d been watching the ladies, Snorre had been watching them.  

“Bloody worthless ergi. What do you think-“  

Fandral looked murderous and opened his mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly, and the six eyes of the princes and their page widened as their king appeared behind Snorre and answered.  

“I think that is a foul word for a fine thing. And you should depart.”  

Snorre said nothing, but rose and nearly reeled from the room. 

Odin could see his sons and their servant were shaken. Only Loki and Frigga caught the spell Odin cast to distract the guests as he calmed the boy and the brothers.   

“Wipe that man and his words from your minds, lads.”  

Loki knew his own mind was too strong for such a simple spell of forgetfulness to work on him, and he was certain Thor was immune - his mind being as unyielding as the rest of him - but he hoped it would work on Elif. Loki wanted the cruelty and willful stupidity that plagued Odin’s generation to die with it. Sooner, rather than later. And painfully.  

“Don’t you think you’ve kept Elif up long enough? You’re working the poor lad to the bone. Escort him to his room and wait on yourselves for one night.”  

Loki nodded and Thor knew something was wrong when his brother made no jokes and offered not even playful resistance. Loki nodded goodnight to Frigga and got up to leave, so Thor did the same, pausing to bid farewell to his friends. Odin caught Thor’s arm as he made his way toward the doors through which Loki and Elif had just passed.  

“Father?”  

Odin smiled softly at him, sighed, and squeezed his arm, a side of the king Thor hadn’t seen often since childhood.  

“Don’t leave your brother alone tonight.”  

“Yes, father. Kiss Mother goodnight for us.”  

“I will. And thank Loki for her hair. It’s very becoming. Perhaps she will keep it.”  

“Aye,” Thor smiled. 

When Thor caught up to them, Loki was delighting Elif with magic. They were being circled by a school of fish - thousands of tiny things that glinted like silver as they turned and dove through the hall - and the ceiling above them looked like the surface of water as seen from below. When Thor arrived it began to rain, and the ripples on their seawater ceiling sent rings of light spreading out over the floor and up the walls, while the crackling sound of the drops tickled their ears. 

At the page’s quarters Loki commended Elif on his service and Thor echoed the praise, relieved to see no trace of worry on the boy’s brow as the matron shooed him to bed and nodded at the princes. 

Once they got up the stairs to their rooms Loki walked swiftly to the end of the hall. He passed the bath, which Thor had assumed to be his destination, and turned into the lavatory, where he immediately vomited and then sank to the floor, shaking.  

“I’ll get you water,” was all Thor could think to say in his shock. He, too, felt ill - cramped and tense - but not to this extent. He went to his room and got a small silver cup, filled it with water from the pitcher, and stopped to lock the door to their hall before returning to Loki, who was fighting back tears.  

“Weep. It is warranted,” Thor said, handing Loki the water and sinking to the floor beside him.  

And Loki was surprised at Thor’s words, but made his agreement known by heeding them while Thor rubbed soothing circles into the small of his back.  

When he had calmed enough to do so without choking, Loki rinsed his mouth and spat.  

“Poor Elif,” Loki moaned.  

“I think he will be fine. He seemed unfazed.”  

“I hope you’re right. He does everything as well as anyone could ask. And his seidr is strong. I don’t want him to be put off it by that cur.”  

“Father is a Mage and came to our defense. Surely that will prove more meaningful to Elif than the words of a stranger. And he may not remember it at all.”  

“You caught Father’s spell, I see. Let’s hope it worked.”  

“Aye.”  

Thor gave Loki’s back a final pat before he rose and helped him to his feet.   

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”  

Loki washed his face in the basin and stood staring into the drain long after. When he spoke it was so softly Thor was almost lulled by the sound until the meaning of the words caught up with him.  

“He wasn’t wrong. Snorre’s words were loutish and hateful, but there is truth in them. In what I am. You should distance yourself from me. I don’t want to cause you grief.”  

“I will not. There is no flaw in you.”  

“Thor, are you even listening?”  

“Aye. Are you? Do you think so little of me? Did you think I didn’t know? That I would hate you for this? Be ashamed of you? Despise you for your heart? Has my friendship with Fandral escaped your notice?”  

“He beds women.”

“He beds everyone.”  

"Oh." 

And Loki had missed that. He’s still not sure how. 

“Enough,” Thor said, before running his hands through his hair, tucking it behind his ears, and bending to wash his face. Loki handed him a towel and Thor roughly scrubbed his face dry before taking Loki’s arm and walking them to Thor’s room. Thor kicked off his boots, so Loki did the same. When Thor kept undressing, Loki hesitated, and Thor noticed.  

“This changes nothing,” Thor said, cutting the air with his arm and staring at Loki with his jaw set until Loki nodded. Thor relaxed  and went to tug his sheets out of the neat order he had put them in that morning. He climbed into the far side of his bed and fl opped onto his back, letting his breath out slowly.

“Go on, then. Grab a book you like and get in here.” 

Loki went to Thor’s shelves and found a collection of poetry that included works spanning the recorded histories of several realms. He was surprised Thor had such a thing. He set it on the bed and deposited his own clothes on Thor’s floor before climbing in, tugging the sheets up to his chin and setting the tome on his chest.  

“No,” Thor said, taking the book and resting it on his own ribs, “It’s my turn.”  

And Loki let himself drown in the depth of Thor’s voice, washing his worries away with words that were older even than Odin. 

Thor woke to find Loki adhered to his right side with sleep sweat, face wedged under Thor’s shoulder. Thor couldn’t stifle his laughter and Loki woke.  

“How could you breathe?”  

“Too tired to breathe,” Loki grumbled, stuffing his face back into the darkness beneath Thor, who tried not to laugh again.  

“Father loved what you did to Mother’s hair.”

“Mmmmphh,” came the muffled reply. 

“You’re not alone,” Thor said, some minutes later. He was never sure if Loki understood what he meant, or if he had even heard him. 

……… 

Odin is waiting for them at the door to the throne room. Loki nods at the king and wastes no time.  

“All-Father. I wish to use the Tesseract and the Casket. May I?”  

“Yes,” Odin answers, surprised. “I was going to recommend that you do so. I shall take you to them.”  

Loki turns to Elif.  

“My brother forgot to breakfast. Could you run to the kitchens and pack enough food for the meal he missed and for a large lunch?”  

“Yes, my lord.”  

“Thank you. Meet us in the stables.”  

Elif nods. Odin takes his sons to his enviable cache of weapons. He knows the guards won’t let me in without him, Loki thinks, even with Thor at my side. And he feels a twinge of guilt at his association having tarnished Thor in any of Asgard’s eyes.  

When they have what they came for, Odin bids them good day and departs.

When they see Elif again, Thor has the Tesseract swinging in his hand. Loki holds the Casket. His arms are blue. Elif’s eyes open wide at this.  

“Ah,” Loki says. “Now you know my secret…” Loki turns to Thor, “Is it still a secret?”  

“Aye, all who know have kept it to themselves.”  

“Hmm. I suppose I shall use a glamour, then.”  

Elif hands Thor a linen sack filled with fruit and pastries for the breakfast he missed.

They take to their mounts and walk them through Asgard and out toward the Bifrost at a leisurely pace. The air is cool on their cheeks and the horses’ hooves make dull thuds on the damp earth. Loki is certain Thor hasn’t stopped smiling for more than a minute in total since he got out of bed. 

When they arrive at the bridge Loki halts his horse and turns all the way around in his saddle, swinging long legs over in swift succession. He makes it look easy. With the Casket held in both of his hands he begins reinforcing the Bifrost, it thickens to almost double under them and looks like a pane of glass covered with crystals of ice. It is beautiful, but Thor misses the colors. 

When they reach the bridge’s jagged end, Heimdall nods at them from where he stands beside a wall of gold cubes. It seems Odin has supplied the raw materials for them. Loki is surprised. Thor is delighted; this means the task will be completed even faster. Loki wonders why Odin did it. Is it because Thor wishes for he and Loki to have more free time together? Is it to give Loki more free time of his own? Is it because he wants some control over how the Bifrost is rebuilt?

They send Elif back with the horses after they unload the few things they brought with them. Heimdall moves up the bridge and out o f their way without having to be asked, for which Loki is secretly grateful. 

Loki wastes no time. He repairs the broken end of the bridge, sending the same crystalline shards that compose it down through the water and into the bedrock below. When that’s done, he sets the Casket down and stretches his neck and arms. Thor wishes to rub Loki’s shoulders, but he doubts that will be well received. He can see sweat on his brother’s brow, so he grabs the skin of water and offers it.  

“Thank you.”  

“Is there any way I might be of help?”

“Not yet. Rest. I’ll need you in a few hours, and it will be a tedious task.” 

Loki makes a guide thread and begins duplicating it. Long after Thor has lost count of the strands, Loki bends them all in half at sharp angles, joins their corners at a common point, centers it over the end of the bridge, and extends the brightly glowing tips in every direction. Loki throws a glowing skin around the points to make a milky sphere, takes up the Casket, and weaves a nest of frost to cradle the globe. He then takes the Tesseract and begins calling particles of gold onto the orb’s surface, building it up as a pearl builds over time. Thor watches the cubes of gold dwindle as the orb grows. It goes on for hours, and Loki’s arms are trembling from exertion, his jaw straining as his lips move over spells. When his lips stop, Thor speaks.  

“May I help you to hold up your arms?”  

“No, it’s all right. I’m nearly finished, and you’ll need your strength for the next part.”  

When he’s satisfied, Loki takes up the Casket once more and builds long shallow steps up to the sphere, leveling off at nearly a quarter its height. Then he sinks to the bridge and lies down. His skin is slick with sweat and he is panting.  

“Shall we eat?” Thor asks.  

Loki nods, his head rocking on the Bifrost.   

Thor finds the bag Elif packed for them and sits beside Loki, pulling out smaller parcels wrapped in thin parchment. Loki turns and props his head up with his arm to see what Thor intends to do with their lunch. It’s always something. Loki blames or credits Volstagg as the situation warrants. They have bread, cheese, nuts, apples, and a small pot of honey. Thor takes out his knife and holds it toward Loki, who burns it clean with a tongue of flame from his fingertip. It’s a motion they’ve repeated so often they do it it without thinking. On Midgard, Thor saw a man light his friend’s cigarette with the same automatic sort of gesture and it made him smile.  

Thor spreads some cheese across a slice of bread, presses nuts into it, and pours honey on it. Loki gives the whole sticky mess a dubious look, as Thor holds it out to him.  

“Just try it.”

Loki takes a bite and is pleasantly surprised.  

“Damn it. The ugly thing is good. Make us another.”  

Thor does so, smirking, and they repeat the process until all of the ingredients are gone. They take turns swirling their fingers around the inside of the honey pot and sucking them clean and then wash it all down with apples and half of their remaining water. Lacking any further excuse for delay, they climb to their feet.  

“Ready?” Loki asks.  

“What am I doing?”  

“Planishing.”  

Thor groans.  

“Sorry,” Loki says, looking anything but. “I want the Bifrost to have your strength and Mjolnir’s, and you know I can’t lift her.”  

Thor nods.  

“How shall I reach the top of the sphere?”  

“Here. I’ll show you.”  

They mount the steps to the orb and Loki grabs Thor’s fingers, placing Thor’s palm on the golden surface and then pressing it slightly before moving it. The whole thing rolls with Thor’s hand.   

“How hard shall I strike?”  

“Not too hard. I don’t want to risk the gold becoming brittle. It’s not the force of the blows as much as the contact.”  

“Could I not simply hold Mjolnir against the sphere for a few hours?”  

“Yes, but I want the surface to possess the shine that comes from planishing. I’ll not have an ugly Bifrost for all the ages.”  

“Very well,” Thor sighs. “Show me how hard to swing.”  

Loki holds up his palm.  

“Hit it.”  

Thor gives it a tap and Loki rolls his eyes.  

"Harder."  

Thor does.  

“Just a bit more.”  

Thor scowls but does as he’s told.  

“Perfect. Just like that.”  

“What are you going to do?” Thor asks.  

“I’ll be on the inside, bracing your strokes with a stake.”  

“What stake?”  

Loki conjures one of ice and Thor watches as he walks right through the gold skin of the sphere and disappears within.  

Seconds later, Loki’s face breaks the surface in front of Thor. There is a white circle around it.   

“See the guide?”  

“Aye.”  

“Strike within the ring.” 

Loki vanishes, but the ring remains. They work in a spiral that expands for hours before it finally contracts again. Thor pauses for thirty seconds but resumes just as Loki is considering checking on him, so Loki assumes he was adjusting his grip. They are both sweating and shaking as they near the end of it. The Bifrost is greedy for their strength, but Thor trusts that Loki knows their limits and can rein in its power.  

Thor strikes the last blow and staggers back. He ties Mjolnir to his hip and stretches his hand. He calls for Loki, uncertain his brother heard him until his voice echoes and vibrates from the sphere.   

“Coming.”   

He steps out, takes up the Tesseract, and heads back toward the sphere.  

“Loki? Can I help?”  

“No. Rest. I am nearly finished.”

Thor sits down and waits. He watches the cubes of gold as they continue to dwindle. A quarter of an hour passes.  

“Loki?”

“Patience,” comes the muffled reply. 

Thor lies down to look at the stars. He passes an hour this way, staring at the black space speckled with points of white, red, gold, and blue. He thinks of Loki’s hair with drops of rain caught in it. He thinks of Loki caught in the frigid depths of space. He thinks of everything his brother said on Midgard and wonders if Loki believed those things, or if they were meant to wound him. Or both. 

Loki steps out and sets down the Tesseract.  

“I want you to stand back. I need to test the Bifrost.”  

“We can both-“  

“No. Go wait by Heimdall.”  

“I like this not.”  

Thor looks stormy. Loki looks exhausted.  

“I’m too tired to argue with you, Thor. Just, please, do this for me. I’ll not be gone long.”

Thor stares at him, then spins and stalks up the bridge. 

When he’s satisfied with Thor’s distance, Loki steps back inside and whispers his destination.  

"Isle of Hypnos, in the Lethe." 

And this is not Odin’s Bifrost of noise and light and violence and vagaries. There is no sound, no tunnel of light, no blast of energy, no limit to where one may land within a realm. A black hole opens in the golden wall and Loki steps into it. His Bifrost uses every scrap of the fabric of space - the light as well as the dark - and a spell of transportation at the end to place you precisely where you wish to go. 

Loki is on the shore of a tiny island in the middle of a silently flowing river. A cave runs through the heart of it, letting the water flow under it. No birds or crickets chirp here, though it is late summer. Bright orange blossoms cover the earth and obscure the entrances to the cave, but Loki knows where to look. He takes a small vial from his pocket, dips it in the river, and stoppers it before putting it back in his leggings. He takes his knife from his belt and cuts three large bare pods from the stems of faded flowers, dropping them into his shirt, held against his side where his tunic tucks into his pants. From his other pocket he takes a vial containing a milky pink liquid. This he sets just inside the entrance of the cave. Sweet dreams for the god of sleep, payment for water and poppies.   

He’s a second from leaving when he sees them; three strands of golden hair, snagged in the flowers by the mouth of the cave. And he knows whose they are. He plucks them from the plant and pulls an empty vial from his pocket, twisting the hairs inside. It never hurts to have a god at your fingertips. 

He doesn’t need to ask Heimdall to retrieve him. The Bifrost will always answer to its maker. Only himself, Heimdall, Odin, Frigga and Thor will be able to command it. Those who would hide from Odin and Heimdall’s sight will not be able to use their old paths; they now fall under the scope of the bridge. Loki has brought all of safely navigable space within its span, leaving only a perilous scattering of scraps for those desperate enough to attempt them. He calculates that they will thin their own numbers rapidly.

When Thor sees Loki descending the steps from the orb he makes no attempt at dignity or restraint, sprinting toward his brother.  

“Well?” Thor gasps.

“I am satisfied.”  

“May I see inside?”  

“I don’t suppose you could wait until we travel to Midgard tomorrow?”  

In response, Thor grabs Loki’s arm and hauls him up the steps, plunging straight through the sphere’s skin without a second’s hesitation.   

Once inside, however, Thor stills almost instantly.  

There are no levers. There are no doorways. There is only a raised round platform at the center of the floor - a perch for Heimdall. Nevertheless, the interior of the sphere is not the plain thing suggested by its austere exterior. It’s a surprise, like a gift. The surface is covered in a swirling pattern; curving abstractions of wings, hammers, and Yggdrasil. The longer Thor looks, the more he sees. There are breaks to the pattern, rewards for those who look carefully. One of the trees is a rosebush. Birds nest in the branches of others, or fly through the spaces in between. One of the hammers has the profile of Loki’s helmet mirrored on each of its ends while another features a pair of goblets. The edge of Heimdall’s stage has deer running all the way around it, while the center of the domed roof sports a giant flake of snow that would be easy to mistake for the sun. But mostly there are wings. Exact replicas of those on Thor’s helmet.  

Thor doesn’t mention it, for which Loki is grateful - he’s too tired to weather his brother’s sentiment after carving so much of his own into these walls. 

They step back outside to find Heimdall waiting for them. Loki nods at him and he resumes his post within the Bifrost.  

Loki takes up the Tesseract and Thor watches as the frosted appearance of the bridge dissolves into something reminiscent of its old self. But now the ice has clarified, creating the illusion of being less substantial. It’s like walking on the surface of a frozen lake. And the colors trapped within it are like the spread of oil over water, curved and chaotic and captivating.  

Loki looks spent. He picks up the Casket with his free hand and begins trudging toward the palace. Thor grabs the rest of their things and makes his way to his brother.  

“Loki, here.”  

Thor takes the Tesseract and stuffs it into the leather bag that held their lunch, tying it to his belt. Loki laughs.  

“I’ll take us home. Come here.”  

Thor takes Mjolnir from his belt and holds her in his right hand, motioning Loki to stand on his left foot. Loki cracks a tiny smile and obeys. Thor’s left arm tightly circles Loki’s waist while Loki’s left arm circles Thor’s neck. He holds the Casket as far from Thor as he can and Thor spins his hammer through the air. And then they are ripped from their feet and barreling toward their balcony and Loki is squeezing Thor so tightly it hurts his arm. And all too soon Thor is swinging their legs forward and their feet are hitting the smooth stone beyond their bedroom walls.   

They stagger into Thor’s room and Loki sinks into a chair. Thor goes out to the hall and asks a page to call two royal guards and to have them bring the cases for the Casket and the Tesseract. Thor joins him at the table and they sit, dozing, until they hear the guards knocking on the bronze outer door.  

They rise and hand over the cubes. Thor thanks the soldiers and swings the door shut, locking it with a loud click. Loki wonders what the excuse will be tonight. Privacy would still be valid, but something else occurs to him.  

“Do you fear for my safety?”  

“Aye.”  

“I can defend myself.”  

“I know. I’d rather you didn’t have to. You need rest.”  

Loki walks off to his room and Thor stands by his own door, hoping he hasn’t offended his brother.  

“Loki? Will you want a bath?”  

“Yes. I’ll join you in a moment.”  

In his room, Loki takes the vials of water and hair from his pocket and carefully removes the pods from his shirt, putting them in jars on his shelves. He quickly strips and makes his way to the bath. Thor is already under the spray, letting it pummel his right arm and shoulder. He steps aside for Loki.  

“Just let me wet my hair and you can have it back.”  

Loki moves away to lather his hair and then hastens through the rest of his washing. Thor is still trying to rinse the ache from his muscles, but the bath is getting full. Loki shuts the water off and wades back to his brother.  

“Here,” Loki sighs, putting his hands on the joint of Thor’s neck and shoulder and squeezing while he whispers spells.

He moves his hands slowly down the arm, keeping a firm grip, kneading at tight spots, and paying careful attention to the complexity below the wrist. When he’s finished he sets the limb in the water.  

“Thor, you have to learn how to do this.”  

“I shall. I have not forgotten my promise.”  

“Good. You worry me.”  

Everything Thor wants to say to that would rapidly descend into shouting, so he only nods. 

Loki floats in the pool, enjoying the warmth while Thor finishes his bath.  

“Shall we eat in the kitchens?”  

Loki had forgotten about food. He has grown accustomed to going without.  

“I’m too tired for that.”  

“You are not missing a meal.”  

“Very well, but I’ll eat up here.”  

Thor climbs from the bath, so Loki follows. Thor chucks a towel at him. It smells like the herbs that Frigga layers between the linens in her closets.  

“I’ll get it. Rest in your room.”   

Loki nods and they scrub themselves dry. 

Loki flops onto his bed and wonders if Thor’s worries for his safety are well founded. He concludes they must be, as Thor isn’t normally one for caution. Have threats been made? Has an attempt been made? Is Thor at risk because he keeps my company? If anyone hurts him I’ll have their head stuffed and mounted and hung above my door, Loki decides, satisfied. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. He wakes to the clinking of plates on his table and Thor laughing at him.  

“You should get cushions for these chairs. There isn’t enough padding on your backside to forgo it on your seats.”  

Loki scowls and goes to fetch his robe before joining Thor at the table. 

Thor has been sensible; there is not so much food that it would exhaust Loki to eat it. They have a capon - stuffed with fruits, nuts, herbs, onions and coarse bread - a thin soup, fresh greens, and a dish of pudding. Water tonight instead of wine, Loki sees, and must admit that’s probably wise.  

They manage to use cutlery rather than their fingers - an improvement Loki finds strangely unsatisfying. He only uses his knife as a weapon once, to deflect Thor’s spoon when he makes for the pudding.

“Should have taken two.”  

“There was only one. I thought perhaps we’d split it.”  

Loki smirks.  

“If you eat more than half, I’ll cut my share from your belly.”  

Thor grins. 

Thor collects their plates and takes them downstairs to a page before locking their hall once more.  

When Loki returns from washing his hands and face he finds Thor sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed. Mjolnir is on the floor.  

“Thor, has something happened?”  

Thor drags his hand over his face.  

“Aye. Father sent Huginn with a scroll on his leg.”  

“When?”  

“While we were planishing the Bifrost.”

“That was why you stopped hammering,” Loki says.  

“Aye.”

"And?"

“Our towels were poisoned. The maid carrying them suffered burns to her hands. We’re to trust only Mother’s maids, Bergljot, and Halldis until Father says otherwise."  

“Ah. So the towels we used tonight smelled like Mother’s linens because they are Mother’s linens, and dinner was a sensible size because that was all Bergljot made for us.”  

Thor nods. Loki is pacing and twisting his hair.  

“Sleep, brother. No one will touch you here,” Thor soothes.  

“They would have poisoned us both.”  

“Perhaps they assume I do not bathe.”  

Loki snorts.  

“I’m going to close our wing to all but Mother and Halldis.”  

“I suspect Father has done so already. He left a note on my table saying our rooms are safe. You’re tired. Can it not wait until morning?”  

“No.” 

Thor remains seated on the bed and listens to all the doors on their floor opening and closing, Loki’s bare feet slapping against the stone. He sees his brother on the balcony with a wall of darkness pouring off of his hands. He’s not sure what Loki’s doing with it, but it’s weirdly lovely. 

Loki comes back into the room looking tired and angry, a combination with the potential to exhaust them both.  

“What was that?” Thor asks.  

“Hmmm?”   

“What were you doing to the balcony?”  

“Oh. A shield and a glamour. Our rooms will look empty. No weapons may pass but those we carry ourselves and no persons gain entry that way but you and I.”  

Thor nods and stands. He pulls Loki’s hand away from the lock of hair he is once again twining around his fingers.

“You’ll give yourself a bald patch.”

Loki huffs.  

Thor tugs the robe from Loki’s shoulders and aims him at the mattress, sending him forward with a light shove. He hangs the robe in the closet and returns to find Loki tucked into the far side of the bed, scowling and patting the empty spot in front of him.  

“You are not to leave my side until we know what happened,” Loki says.  

“Then we are in agreement.”  

Thor drapes his robe on a chair and climbs into the bed, lying on his back with his arms behind his head. Many minutes pass without  any sign of sleep. He turns his head to look at his brother. Loki’s eyes are wide open, but unfocused.

“What are you thinking?” Thor asks, only half expecting an answer.  

Loki props his head up with his arm and his brow crumples. 

“We’ll know by morning. Heimdall will have seen what happened. No mage powerful enough to elude his sight would have used poisoned linens. It’s too imprecise. Sloppy. Still…”

Loki trails off and reaches to play with Thor’s hair.  

“What is it?” Thor whispers. 

“Are all of my deeds known to all the realms?”

“I think not. Father has told no one, as far as I know. Heimdall knows nearly everything, of course, but says nothing, as ever. It puzzles me, too. Who would know enough to be so angry?”

Loki shakes his head.

“Have you been collecting enemies in my absence, Thor?”

Thor smiles. 

Loki shakes out the twist he put in his brother’s hair and turns onto his back, snuffing out the lamps.  

Thor can see the faintest traces of magic flickering on his brother’s fingertips. He sees Loki’s eyes shining in the dark. You can’t sleep either, Thor thinks.   

“Tell us a story,” Thor whispers, for the first time in centuries.

He hears Loki take a deep breath. And then there is nothing, and Thor thinks that’s fair. Loki is exhausted and has indulged him more in these past two days than in the last two decades. But then the stars on the ceiling dim, and the light from the windows fades, and they are left in perfect darkness and a silence broken only by their own breathing and the blood in their veins. But Thor can’t hear Loki’s breathing - only his own. Can’t smell anything. He reaches beside him and floods with relief when he finds Loki’s arm, firm and cool and with a steady pulse. He links the slender limb with his own and dovetails his fingers through his brother’s. Loki gives a squeeze and Thor relaxes into this strange void.

Stars spin into view once more, burning blue, red, and gold against cold inky space, but they are not Asgard’s. They drift through this foreign galaxy, past towers of nebulae that speak somehow of the sea to Thor’s eyes. Something tells him he should be freezing, and he’s grateful Loki spared him that. He isn’t alone, either: another mercy.  

Thor wants to warm his brother’s chilly, solitary skin. He wants to raise a sheen of sweat on it and lay gold leaf over every inch of it. Then he’d set his slim gilded god on a pillar of ebony; a sun for Thor to orbit. 

A small planet grows closer and soon Thor can see the fractured surface of this foreign world as he spins toward it. Then everything goes black and Thor’s stomach drops; he doubts the Chitauri welcome strangers with open arms.  

But Loki doesn’t show him any more of his fall. Instead, he puts them in a memory. 

They are lying beneath a tree in high summer, tented under the canopy of its low branches. 

Thor remembers this day vividly. Loki had been practicing magic; creating a tiny orb of light and duplicating it. He repeated the process until there were hundreds of points of light above their heads and then he set them in motion. 

Thor remembers how focused Loki had been, and how the easy grace of the lights stood in stark contrast to his brother’s flushed face, his ferocious concentration. But Loki’s memory has retained only the loveliness of that afternoon. The scents of grass and moss, the songs of birds and insects, the dappled shade of the leaves, and the dance of gold lights amid greenery.

Is this where you went when I couldn’t reach you? Thor wonders.

The vision fades and the room blooms into view once more. They lie there, adrift in their minds, until Thor’s thoughts settle on Loki’s latest creation.

“Your Bifrost is beautiful.”

Loki stares at Thor for a long time before responding. 

“It’s yours. Early coronation present. Better than the last one, no?” 

Thor is shaking with what Loki assumes to be rage, or possibly tears, until he hears the laughter bubbling from his brother’s throat.

He pulls Thor’s hand up and kisses it, grateful for the rich vein of mirth at his brother’s core.

Thor hums and turns on his side, wrapping an arm around Loki’s ribs and resting his lips on Loki’s shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Thor.”

Thor’s arm squeezes Loki briefly and his lips press firmly into Loki’s shoulder before they lift.

“Goodnight.”


	4. Day Two

In the morning they dress for labor once more and leave their hall side by side, making straight for their mother’s rooms. She hugs them tightly and they feel guilty; they should have gone to her last night to reassure her that they were well. She gives them a light breakfast and they wait together. Loki sits reading and watching Thor, who sits beside Frigga on the couch braiding her hair  as she embroiders.

“Is he bothering you, Mother?”  

“Not yet. But if he fills my hair with knots I would appreciate your aid in untying them.”  

“Have you so little faith in me?” Thor laughs, “There will be no knots.”  

“Your own hair is plenty long to plait, Thor,” Loki observes.  

“As is yours, brother.”  

“Is that a threat?”  

“If you like,” Thor answers, grinning. 

Less than an hour has passed when there’s a knock at the door and one of Frigga’s maids Tells them Odin wishes to see them in the t hrone room.

Frigga links arms with her boys and they go. Odin is pacing, but does not look angry or worried, which eases something in Loki’s mind. When they are gathered before him, he sighs. 

“We have been fortunate. No lasting harm was done. The young maid will recover. The only task remaining is to punish the party responsible for the thing.”  

Odin summons a guard, who leads two figures into the room. One is half the height of the other, and both are known to all of them. 

Odin dismisses the guard and greets them.  

“Sif. Astrid.”  

“All-Father,” they answer, bowing low.  

He nods at them and takes Frigga’s hand.  

“As the injury was meant for Loki, the judgement shall be his. Sif. Thor. Come with us. Loki will call us back when he is ready to speak her sentence.” 

Loki has been watching Thor, who looks shocked, wounded, and perplexed. He now looks to Sif, who seems reluctant to leave her sister with him. She kisses Astrid, who keeps a brave face for one so young. She has been a page for only a year.  

Once they have left, Loki sits on the lowest of the steps to the throne, leans back on his hands, and stretches his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Astrid remains as still as stone. She looks almost exactly like her sister did at that age. Loki stares at the ceiling and sighs, thinking Sif, you idiot. 

He lowers his gaze to Astrid’s face.  

“I’m going to tell you what I think happened, and I want you to tell me when I’m right, and when I’m wrong, and answer any questions I have. Can you do that for me?”  

“Aye, my prince,” she nods.  

“Your sister told you things about me. Things that upset her. And you believed them to be true.”  

She nods again, eyes trained on Loki’s feet.  

“You are wise. Your sister is no liar, though she may be foolish. The worries she burdened you with were too great for one so young. She told you I tried to kill Thor.”  

“Aye, prince.”

Loki nods.  

“It’s true, you know.”  

She looks him in the eye. He can’t help grinning.  

“He wasn’t even angry about it, really,” Loki says, shaking his head. “He’s a strange thing. And fret not. I shan’t do it again. But don’t tell him that - I like to keep him on his toes.”  

Her eyes go wide.  

“I know your poison was meant for me. That’s fair. But I share a bath with my brother, and he could have been hurt or killed in my stead.”  

Her mouth drops open briefly before clenching shut and tears well up in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall and makes no sound.   

“As it happened, only the maid fell ill, and Odin says she’ll mend. The powder works best on wet skin, yes?”

She nods and the motion spills her tears onto her flushed face.

“Where did you get it?”  

“My aunt is an apothecary, prince.”  

“Why did you not think Thor would use those towels?”  

“He has only ever bathed at the sparring arena and the shared palace baths, my lord. And sometimes in the streams and springs.”  

This puzzles Loki. Now he has questions for Thor.  

“I see.” 

Loki rises. 

“Well, my dear, since you share my crime, you shall share my punishment. Does that sound fair?  

“Yes, my lord.”  

Loki calls for the guard and asks him to send their families back in. 

When they have assembled beside the pair, Loki drops to his knees, putting his face level with Astrid’s. He tips her chin up and places his hands on her shoulders.  

“Astrid. For trying to kill a prince of Asgard, you shall be punished as a prince of Asgard.”  

He feels her muscles tense in his hand.  

“You are free to go, and you are welcome to continue as our page if you wish.”  

She looks at him, worried; afraid this is a trick.  

“My prince?”  

“I was never punished,” he shrugs, “So why should you be?”   

He thinks a moment, staring at her with an intensity she finds unnerving but not unwelcome, before continuing.  

“I would make a trade with you, if you’ll have it. A lock of your hair for one of mine?”  

She nods and Loki twines his finger around a patch of hair behind her left ear. He does the same with a section behind his own. She braces herself, expecting him to tug them out, but he merely pinches the tips of the strands. As she watches, blond bleeds its way up the black curl in his fingertips and the hair straightens. She looks at where his fingers touch her fair hair and sees the lock he holds is now inky and slightly curved.  

“To remind us of what else we have in common.”  

She smiles and he taps her nose before rising to his feet. He bows to everyone, bowing lowest to Astrid. Sif bows to him with a strange expression on her face before gathering Astrid up in her arms and carrying her from the room. Astrid smiles and waves to Loki as they leave; he winks his goodbye. Frigga kisses Loki’s cheek and he kisses her hand. He can see her cheeks struggling to rein in her smile, a beautiful battle playing over her soft face. Odin nods at his sons before leaving with their mother.  

Loki turns to Thor, who is smiling unreservedly.  

“Do you still wish to go with me today?” Loki asks.  

“Aye.”  

“Thank you. This will take longer. The Tesseract and Casket are not safe on Midgard. I won’t risk bringing them. But I might get some help from your hammer.”  

“She will be glad to give it to you.” 

Loki looks skeptical, but says nothing. 

They pack a generous lunch and Thor flies them to the end of the bridge. Loki hides his grin in his brother’s shoulder as Mjolnir whips them through the air. 

Once inside, Thor nods to Heimdall and then looks to Loki, lost.  

“It is different, but still painless, brother.”

Loki turns and whispers something and Thor sees a spot of black appear on the golden wall before them. It widens rapidly and Loki turns and offers Thor his hand. Thor takes it and Loki grins and tips them both into the void.  

And it’s almost familiar - like the darkness Loki wraps them in when he shows Thor a vision. Like the strange bedtime story Loki told him last night. There is only his brother’s hand in his own. No sound, no sense of direction or time. And then their feet hit dusty earth and the scent of sand, concrete, and steel hits their noses. It’s dusk. They will have the relative privacy of night to work in, though Loki knows the city will not be quiet, regardless of the hour. Loki casts a glamour over them and they approach the debris. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters is exactly as Loki left it. There is a fence around the whole of it and a scattering of guards around the perimeter, but no attempt has been made at repairs. Loki suspects they mean to scrap it and start anew elsewhere.  

“This is rather perfect,” Loki states.

Thor scowls and Loki scoffs.  

“I mean this will make the task easier. They’ve done nothing to tidy up, so all of the pieces are here. I merely need to rearrange them. Oh, and I’ve disguised us as rabbits, so don’t do anything too out of keeping with their habits.”

They tread the edge of the ruin until Loki stops them midway between two sentries and turns to his brother. Loki looks at the hammer tied to Thor’s hip.  

“I don’t know if this is going to work. Any insight you have would be appreciated.”  

“What do you intend to do?”  

“I hope to access Mjolnir’s strength. Use it to fuel the repairs. I’m not certain she’ll be willing to give it to me. In which case, I’d need to use you as a conduit, and that could be dangerous. But I’m hopeful it won’t be necessary.”  

Loki steps back.  

“Here. Place her on the ground. And if this has any adverse effect on you, you are to tell me at once, understood?”  

Thor nods.  

Loki kneels in the dust beside the hammer. Thor joins him, Mjolnir between them. Loki has never touched Mjolnir while she has been in Thor’s possession. The only time he dared try it was when Thor was banished and he could trust that she wouldn’t share his thoughts with his brother. Now he’s not sure what she’ll do. Will she sing his secrets to Thor’s unsuspecting soul? Will she smash Odin’s spell in the process?  

Loki wraps his fingers around the handle and Thor makes a low hum. Loki can’t tell if it’s approval or surprise. Or perhaps doubt.   

Loki can feel her magic. It is denser than any metal could ever be; as concentrated as a collapsing star. He presses his palm to her head and the power there feels even stronger, but it will not cross into his hand, however hard he pulls.   

Loki looks to Thor, who is staring at Mjolnir as though she is an unruly horse.  

“Sorry,” Thor sighs. “I’m telling her to listen to you but she is a stubborn thing.”  

“Yes, you are rather perfect for each other. It’s very touching.”  

Thor elbows him and then grips the handle of his hammer.  

Something is different, Loki can feel it; like the power has been focused, or harnessed. But not by Loki.  

“I can feel your magic,” Thor says, almost to himself.  Loki nods. “It still isn’t working, is it?” 

“No,” Loki confirms. “She answers only to you. It’s incredible. She feels more alive than I could have dreamt possible.”  

So Thor takes up Mjolnir with his left hand, and captures his brothers cold fingers with his right. He looks to Loki.  

“Remember, if you feel any strain, or if Mjolnir feels strained to you, you tell me and we stop this. I’m concerned I won’t be able to distinguish between your strength and hers.” Loki takes a deep breath. “Ready?”  

“Aye.”  

Loki grips Thor’s fingers tightly and his magic calls to Mjolnir’s. 

And she answers. And there is no trickling accretion of power. Loki feels full to bursting with a strength that seems strangely benevolent, though it never shies from bloodshed. Whether it began that way and found a kindred spirit in his brother, or whether Thor has made it that way, Loki can’t tell. 

Loki’s grip on Thor’s hand slackens, so Thor holds on tighter and looks over to Loki concerned.  

“Thor, I need you to let go of my hand.”  

Thor does.  

“Are you well?”

“Aye,” Loki answers, sounding slightly dazed. “And you?”  

Thor laughs and lets go of Mjolnir.  

“Quite well. You, however, look like a startled doe. Shall I help you up?”  

“That would likely be wise,” Loki murmurs.  

Thor stands behind Loki and reaches under his arms, slowly lifting him to his still-unsteady feet. He remains and holds Loki by the elbows until he stops swaying. 

They walk closer to the wrecked building and Loki turns and raises his arms, pouring darkness over their heads. It stretches and grows transparent in the process, until the stars in the east are once again visible through it. Loki’s lip are moving. When his spell is spoken Thor cocks his head.  

“Glamour and protection?”  

“Aye, and something to dampen the sound.”

Loki turns back toward Thor.  

“I’m not certain how long the magic I’ve taken from Mjolnir will last. Keep her ready in one hand and be prepared to place your other hand on me. But not on my hands - I’ll be using them.”  

“Forearm, then? Or back of the neck?”  

“Neck, I think. Best to keep away from my arms altogether.”  

Loki is going to reverse the paths taken by all the particles that made up the building. It’s simple in design, but difficult in execution at this scale. The energy and stamina required are tremendous. If Loki didn’t have Thor’s aid, this task would leave him exhausted well into his banishment. His focus is necessary for the spell to function; if he ceases to pay attention, the process pauses and must be resumed. This means he can take a break, which is helpful, but he can’t just set the spell in motion and take a nap, which is always preferable.

He speaks the incantation, setting precise parameters for the spell, and then extends his hands to the mess.  

Thor can see the energy radiating from his brother. It’s like the heat coming off a rooftop or road on a sunny day, warping the appearance of whatever is behind it. 

Loki has only called to him three times in the four hours he’s been working, but Thor has not been bored. His eyes have been drinking their fill of his brother, and their bellies are bottomless. Loki is too focused to notice, or at least too busy to bother stopping him. Thor hasn’t yet realized that the building stands whole once more before him. He starts when Loki turns and ask him if he wants to join him inside.  

The interior is strange and grey. Ugly. Thor misses Asgard’s beauty and chides himself for taking it for granted. 

Loki has replaced the pieces, but he has not reversed time. The dead lie where they fell, whole again, but soft and ripe with a week’s decay. He works his way through the building, wrapping them in ice from his fingertips and the intimacy of the thing unnerves him. He could run naked through a crowded square and not feel one tenth as exposed as he does when he calls upon this Jotnar stranger in his skin. He knows so little about this version of himself. He’s not even certain there are versions of himself. But he’ll have plenty of time to delve into all that later.  

He leaves the glamour on the S.H.I.E.L.D. site in place, not wanting to announce his intentions and risk alerting New York. He takes Thor’s hand and then they’re in Manhattan, perched on a tall building standing intact at the center of Loki’s battlefield.  

“Are we still rabbits?” Thor laughs.  

Loki snorts.  

“Falcons.”  

Thor smiles. 

This will be a long and messy process. Midgard has already begun to make their own repairs and has cleared away much debris. Loki must call the right particles from a mess of locations and wait for them to arrive in the proper order. If the space they occupied has been altered already, he must destroy the obstruction or work around it. The parameters for the spell have to be left open, as he doesn’t know how far the debris has been carried. And he can’t call all the particles that stood here before the buildings fell; food would be ripped out of the living who had consumed it, the living would be ripped from their homes, the dead from their graves, and cars would fly through the air. It would be like a war all over again. 

Loki clears the area of people, tricking the night owls to bed and sending construction crews back to their stations. The remains of the Chitauri he burns to ash and blows away with weather borrowed from his brother, who raises his eyebrows at the theft, but says nothing.  

He casts an enormous web of glamour across the city. Thor didn’t think such a thing was possible. He has underestimated both his brother and magic itself.  

The spell takes an hour to speak with all the specifics, and Loki knows he’ll have a lot of adjusting to do at the end.  

He calls for Thor’s aid much more frequently. He’s working with more space, more variables. He needs to transport himself and Thor to different streets and structures throughout the process, to see where things got tangled or overlapped, to clean blood and  bone off of concrete and carpet, to pull gore out of the panes of glass to which he’s inadvertently fused it. 

They eat on a rooftop and watch the sun rise. Loki looks tired but the food seems to brighten him slightly, and the colors of morning cast a rosy glow on his skin.  

And, once their meal is through, though he grits his teeth at the thought, Loki hides them from sight and takes them to Midgard's healers.   

Loki can still smell the battle on his victims - they are easy to find - and he mends those he caused to be wounded. Afterward he even thinks it was worth it, if only to see how happy it makes Thor. Loki would spend their lives just as freely if that would buy his brother’s smiles. 

Two of his three tasks finished. He feels unfulfilled. And he hates himself for it, but he has to ask.  

“Do you wish to see her again?”  

“No.”  

And Loki cannot master his tongue in time to stop its asking, “Why not?”  

Thor gives a mirthless laugh and shrugs.  

“Why? To ask her to spend what little time she has waiting for days that won’t come? My home is Asgard, and it will never be safe enough to house a mortal. She was never meant for me. Nor I for her. And it is weakness, I know, but I could not bear to watch her fade. To see men fall in battle is a hardship I can weather, but to watch a woman die in peace…”   

Thor trails off, but soon finds his way back.   

“She is strong. She would not leave her friends. Her work. She would not wish to run from death as we do, eating Idunn’s apples.” Thor shakes his head. “She was always lost to me.”  

“I’m sorry, brother.”  

Thor sighs.  

“I should speak with her. This is cowardly. I shall say goodbye and make my apologies. I know not whether she still harbors any hope for us, but she deserves to know there is none. She is kept hidden. Can you find her?”  

Loki looks offended, grabs Mjolnir’s handle where it hangs at Thor’s hip and, in pool of shadow, transports them.  

They are in a lab in which Jane sits surrounded by Midgardian technology. The scent of the coffee she drinks fills the room. It's early here. She works long days. Loki has veiled the room from the sight of all but its occupants and veiled himself from all eyes. 

He’s right, damn him, Loki thinks, I have to tell him I’m not coming back. If he can do it, so can I. But not yet. 

Jane stills at her computer, sensing some change in the room. She is as effortlessly beautiful as they remember. Loki hates her for it. For how the fates have blessed her. In mere moments, and with a minimum of effort, she had everything he’s ever wanted.   

Thor says her name quietly, hoping not to startle her. She turns and stares at him briefly before rising and coming over to hug him. Thor reminds himself to be careful with her.  Touch them as though they are made of eggshell, or not at all, his mind chants at him in this realm. 

“Jane, forgive me. I wished to come sooner but things have been… difficult.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Are you okay?”  

“I am well, my lady, thank you.” Thor takes her hands in his and sees a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. And he wasn't e xpecting that, but his brother has taught him that he can lie with the truth, so he reins his surprise toward joy instead of s orrow, and only a liar as practiced as Loki could catch Thor’s sleight of hand.

“I see congratulations are in order, my friend!”   

Jane beams at him, blushing and thanking him and embracing him again.   

“He is a wise and fortunate man,” and Thor means it.   

Jane nods in agreement, laughing.  

“Sooooo,” she says, in that playful, casual way her people have. “What happened?”   

Thor laughs and ducks his head.  

“It is a long story, and there is much of it about which I am still uncertain.” He sighs. “Loki and I fought. I destroyed the bridge. And he fell from it. But he has been returned to us. He mended the Bifrost yesterday.”  

“Loki did?”  

“Aye, lady. We used it to get here.”  

“We? He’s here? Wow. Wait, yesterday? So, then, how did you get here last week? To New York, I mean.”  

“My father is gifted in sorcery. He sent me… ” and Thor isn’t sure how to explain this himself, having experienced it only once,  “… by paths that are like the Bifrost before it was harnessed.”

“Another Einstein-Rosen bridge! Are you shitting me? I don’t suppose you could, like, draw me a map?”   

Thor smiles and shakes his head.  

“I make a poor navigator, I fear. Sorry, Jane.”  

“It was worth a shot,” she grins. 

Loki has been leaning against a wall and listening to their entire conversation. He is impressed with Thor’s assessment of the path Odin used to send him here. It is entirely accurate. There’s hope for you yet, brother. And he has never been happier to hear of an engagement in his entire life. If he cannot have Thor then he wishes for every other being in all the realms to share his fate. It’s the only kind of equality in which he has any interest, at least when it comes to beings that are not Thor.   

But it irks Loki the more he thinks about it. She didn’t wait for Thor. She put up no fight. How could she be such a fool? She had the heart of a god in her hands. And she let it go. That is either the strongest or weakest thing he has ever witnessed. He can’t decide which.  How could she underestimate Thor’s worth so completely? She has wounded him. Marked him. Made some part of him her own. Damn. 

Jane and Thor are saying their goodbyes. She tells him to come to her wedding if he’s on Midgard in August. Thor thanks her before calling to Loki, who then removes them to the relative privacy of the roof.   

Thor is watching Loki, who looks like he could spit. His fists are clenched at his sides and he is standing as straight as a sword, staring at nothing, which seems to be quite a long way off. Thor wants to slacken the tension in his brother’s tendons.  

“My vanity,” Thor tries.  

“That woman,” Loki snarls.  

And Thor gets that feeling, like an itch in your mind, a thought standing just behind you, out of your sight no matter which way you turn, but you know it’s there - you can feel its breath on the back of your neck. “That woman,” he thinks. I’ve heard those words before. He tries his luck with Loki again.  

“I knew her but a few hours. It was arrogance to even imagine she would be waiting. I should thank her. Asgard should thank her. For showing me how far I have yet to go. Childish still. My pride is an ugly thing.”  

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”  

Loki is trying to master himself. His voice shook the words the words from his throat like dust from a rug. He holds his breath to suffocate his anger and waits until he’s certain his voice won’t betray him before he speaks again.  

“Home, then?  

Thor nods. He looks sad and perplexed. Loki doesn’t think it’s fair that anyone should be able to wear that expression so attractively.  

Loki links their hands and they are wrapped in darkness. Thor is starting to get used to Loki’s Bifrost. There is a morbid peace in it. They slide into the warm light of the gold orb.  

Loki winks and blows Heimdall a kiss, batting his eyelashes. Thor politely greets the guardian while elbowing his brother.  

Loki watches Thor closely out of the corner of his eye as they walk abreast up the bridge.  

Still fretting, Loki sees. Well I won’t let him.   

He wants to own every piece of Thor: all of his sorrow, his joy, his hate, his love, his laughter, his anger, his violence. He wants to be the sole source of each of them. Nothing short of everything will do. He wants these things to belong to him even though he has no intention of taking them. He’ll leave them all behind, waiting hopelessly for him, wrapped up in a lovely Thor-shaped box with Loki’s name carved into it. 

Loki takes Thor’s arm and Thor looks at him, smiling. 

That’s better already, Loki thinks.  

“Sorry, brother,” Thor shakes his head. “My mind is like a sieve. I think I’ve left a trail of memories from here to Midgard.”  

“It’s a wonder you can recall your own name. Ooooo. Can you recall your own name? Or do you only respond to it because it’s always being shouted at you? Hmmm. I shall have to think of something else to call you, as a test.”  

Thor tries to look stern and waits. They make it a third of the way up the bridge before it starts.  

“Thunder-tits?”  

Loki gives him a hopeful look.  

“I’m only watching out for you,” Loki says, and waits until another third of the bridge has passed beneath their feet. 

“Storm-strumpet?”  

Thor’s lips waver and he braces himself for when they reach solid ground. 

“Hammer-harpy?”  

Thor snorts and squeezes Loki’s elbow. 

In this moment you are entirely mine , Loki thinks. And he feels the way he did as a child when his lessons and sparring practice had finished. Free, and like all the realms were his.  

“Could we not have taken the Bifrost to our rooms?” Thor asks, slowing his pace to match his brother’s.  

“Aye, but I enjoy the view.”  

“Sentiment,” Thor teases.  

“Mmmm,” Loki agrees. “See what fools it makes of us?” 

They walk all the way back to the palace, making straight for the kitchens. They are exhausted and ravenous and opt to eat at one of the tables in the dining hall, too tired and hungry to drag their dinner back up to Thor’s room. They don’t speak. Loki’s energy continues to wane through their meal. By the end of it he has an elbow on the table to prop his head up, his palm cradling his cheek. Thor knows Loki is finished; he has never seen his brother abandon his manners when eating in public. He rises and goes to pull back Loki’s bench.  

“Up you get.”  

Loki sways to his feet. Thor drapes Loki’s left arm over his shoulders, gripping Loki’s left hand with his own and snaking his right arm around Loki’s waist. He nearly carries him back to their rooms. When they’ve made it up the stairs and into their hall Thor pauses.  

“Where shall I put you?”  

“Bath, I think. I’m caked with dust.”  

Thor drags Loki through the first door on the left and props him against the wall while he goes to draw a bath. He hears the soft thuds of boots being toed off and the slap of leather leggings hitting the floor and comes back to find Loki nodding off against the wall in his tunic. Thor’s laughter wakes his brother, who scowls.  

“Creation is exhausting. I shall keep to destruction,” Loki grumbles.  

Thor huffs, pulling the laces loose at Loki’s neckline before grabbing the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up over Loki’s head and shaking it to release his arms, which tumble to his sides. Loki nods his head in the direction of the pool in mute command and Thor laughs again, then sighs.  

“You’ll drown. Here.”  

Thor quickly shrugs and kicks his way out of his clothes before scooping Loki up and carrying him into the bath, standing him under the spray while he climbs back out and drips his way around the room, grabbing towels and soaps. Thor turns the water off and steps back down into the pool. Loki sinks into it until his neck is submerged and then throws his feet up in front of him, swirling his arms until he’s floating on his back, and watches as Thor completes a hasty bath. He wonders if his brother will leave him floating here. He wants to go to sleep, but he won’t get into his bed if he’s dirty. Loki doesn’t like to roll around in the day’s dirt and deeds while he’s dreaming - he want a fresh start; his day begins when he climbs into bed. 

He feels Thor’s forearms under his knees and neck, and then the drag of the water over all of his skin as he is carried to the front of the bath. Thor sets him on the first step, sits behind him on the edge of the pool, and begins washing Loki’s hair. And Oh, Loki thinks,  This is lovely. I can feel his legs against my sides, his nails against my scalp, his breath on my skin. If I bent far enough backward I could kiss him, and his hair would fall around our faces like a veil. 

“Rinse,” Thor rumbles, and Loki obeys, pushing off from the step and sinking to his knees beneath the water, tossing thick hair  with thin fingers.

Eventually, Thor tugs him back up by his armpits, turns him around, and sets him up on the lip of the pool in the spot he has just vacated.   

“You make a terrible siren,” Loki gripes, slumping forward, “You’re supposed to let me drown.”  

Thor twists and reaches for the soap, spinning it between his palms. When he turns back, Loki is hunched over with his jaw in his hands, elbows on his knees, hair hanging like a sheet in front of his face. He might be asleep.  

“Feet,” Thor says, wiggling his fingers in invitation. Loki jerks at the sound before sitting up a bit and straightening his right leg. Thor grabs it by the ankle and runs a finger along the instep. Loki flails.  

“If I catch you sleeping again you’ll get more of the same.”   

“I don’t see why I need to be awake for this,” Loki gripes.  

“I can’t be trusted.”  

“Oh?”  

“Might shave off your eyebrows.”  

“Ah.”  

“Mmmm. Or put your hair in a plait and then cut it off. Make a new tail for Mjolnir.”  

Loki smiles. Thor soaps Loki’s foot and grips the little toe between his thumb and forefinger.  

“Or I might take this toe, wear the bones around my neck. You could sleep through the loss, I think.”  

Loki hums. He likes the last option best - Thor owning and wearing and wanting a piece of him. That would be marvelous. In exchange, Loki would wish to taste one drop each of Thor’s: blood, seed, tears, and sweat. He knows the taste of all of his own and has always wished to make a comparison. 

“Very well. I shall remain awake, but that is all the cooperation you will get from me here.” 

Loki hasn’t misbehaved in days - shouting at Odin doesn’t count, ever - and it’s making him dizzy, so if he must stay awake he’ll make it worth his while. He’ll play a game, called What Will Thor Do? He toys with the idea of pretending to sleep and playing the same game, but he’d have to keep pretending to wake up, and there’s a good possibility that he would genuinely fall asleep and miss something. So he pulls all of his willpower up to his eyelids and orders them to remain open.  

Loki lies back on the cold stone floor and goes limp.  

“Happy?” Loki asks.  

Thor tickles his foot again.  

“Ah! Dammit, I’m awake!”  

“I told you. I can’t be trusted.”  

“I see.” 

And Loki lies there, making a show of keeping his eyes open, while Thor rolls his own eyes, chuckles, and grabs the soap again. He scrubs up Loki’s right shin to his knee, kneading the meat of the calf in a way that makes Loki hum, before dropping the leg into the bath and and repeating the process on the left one.  

Whatever next, brother? Loki wonders, still boneless on the bathroom floor. And Thor runs soap-slick hands in circles all the way up and around Loki’s thighs, one after the other, scrubbing right into the creases where the leg meets the pelvis, the backs of his hands brushing Loki’s balls. Thor laughs.  

“You really aren’t going to be any help at all, are you?”  

“None,” Loki confirms, smirking.  

Thor grabs, lifts, drags, and nudges Loki until he’s lying parallel to the tub. Then he kneels on the first step, cups the back of Loki’s skull with his left hand, lathers his right, and wraps it around Loki’s throat. And Loki is wide awake now, though he stares at the ceiling and tries to keep his smirk in place. Thor is rubbing his fingers into the hollows under Loki’s jaw, and when he reaches around to do the back of the neck he keeps the tip of his thumb on the apple of the throat. And Loki has never been more conscious of the surface of his own skin.   

Thor traces the muscles of the neck to the base of the throat, swirling his fingertips in the hollow there before running them a long the collar bones. He pauses to get more soap and Loki wonders when they both started breathing through their mouths, but he makes no effort to stop and he keeps his eyes fixed on the honey-colored wood of the ceiling. Thor does Loki’s left shoulder and arm and then wrangles the appendage up behind Loki’s head, to swap places with Thor’s left hand. Loki is delighted by the thought of Thor having both hands free; more of his brother’s skin will be in contact with his.  

Thor rubs and kneads his right arm, placing it behind Loki’s head with its mate. Then he’s doing both of Loki’s armpits and making Loki twitch. He follows the muscles of the breast inward, toward the heart, which responds by beating faster, and back out again over Loki’s sides, letting his fingers ricochet over the ribs. He grips the flanks tighter as his hands glide over them, thumbs coming closer together when he reaches Loki’s waist, and Loki is positive his mutinous spine just arched of its own accord. If Thor notices, he doesn’t show it.   

Thor’s hands leave him when they reach the crests of the hip bones, as Loki had expected they would, and he is unspeakably disappointed. But then the hands return, loaded with soap, to paint bubbles onto Loki’s belly in long even strokes, and Loki is thrilled by his brother’s boldness. And then, because he won’t back down any more than Loki will, Thor lets his hands follow the hollows of Loki’s hips to their conclusion, wriggling wet fingers into dark fur before loosely fisting Loki’s cock and pulling back the foreskin to wash him properly.   

Norns, he doesn’t do anything by halves, Loki thinks and laughs. 

“Ooooo, you are a brave one.”  

“And you are a lazy one.”

“Mmmm,” Loki agrees, as Thor wedges his hands under Loki’s shoulder and hip and tips him onto his left side.  

Thor’s hands slide up and down his back before swirling over the rosy cheeks of his ass, where one of Thor’s fingers slots into the cleft and follows it straight through to his sac, thrice.  

“Thor! You are fearless.”  

“And you are shameless.”

Thor deals a stinging slap to Loki’s behind, gathers him up in his arms, turns, and dumps him into the pool.  

Loki is true to his word. He lies there, limp, at the bottom of the bath and waits. His heart has only managed two dozen beats before Thor breaks down and drags him back up, laughing and apologizing as Loki lolls in his arms, grinning.

“Thank you,” Loki says.  

Thor raises his eyebrows.  

“Don’t thank me yet - I’ve no idea how I’m going to dry you off.”  

“Yes, I am looking forward to that.”  

And Loki closes his eyes and smiles while Thor keeps him afloat with fingertips on the small of his back and the base of his skull. 

Thor manages to dry his rag doll brother without roughing him up too badly and then tosses the trickster over his shoulder. He grabs an extra towel and some oil with his free hand and puts an unnecessary bounce in his step to jostle his burden on the trip to Loki’s bed. He bends over the mattress and Loki drops onto it.  

“May I thank you now?” Loki asks.  

“Almost.”  

Thor sits and leans over to dry Loki’s hair, water falling from his own blond strands to spatter on Loki’s shoulders. There’s something painfully lovely in the dissonance Loki sees above him - to have the weapon he knows his brother’s body to be focussed on gentleness, on maintaining another being instead of destroying it.  

“How’s your skin?”  

“A size too small,” Loki admits. “When I stretch I feel it ripping at the seams.”  

“Will you turn over, or do I have to do it for you?”  

Loki considers this for a moment. His bath is finished. He can start a new game now, but he needs time to devise one. He is struggling to tabulate the score from the last one. Thor is completely unabashed by my body, Loki thinks. Is that indifference, or something better? Or worse?  

“I’ll do it. Could you fill a cup with water and set it within reach of the bed? I think I’m going to sleep for a few days.”   

Thor’s face falls, but he does as he’s asked.  

Oh, what now? Loki wonders. I have a year of sleep to catch up on.  

And Loki is too tired to work out the answer, so he’ll cheat: he’ll ask. 

Thor comes back, not looking him in the eye, mouth still tight. He sets the water on the floor and sits beside Loki again. Loki sighs.  

“I’ve upset you. How?”  

“I’m an idiot. Ignore me.”  

Loki smiles and shakes his head.  

“It’s far too late for that now.”   

Thor sighs soft laughter through his nose and pours oil into his palm.  

“Turn over,” Thor says.  

“Tell me what’s wrong.”  

“It’s nothing. I wasn’t thinking. Surely that’s no surprise.”  

“Thor.”  

“It’s stupid. And selfish.”  

“Don’t let that stop you. I never do.”  

They laugh.  

“You’ve seven days,” Thor answers, shaking his head.  

“And you’d rather I not sleep through them.”  

Thor sighs and looks at the ceiling.  

“Aye.”  

Loki nods and turns onto his belly. Thor dabs oil across his back with the pads of his fingers before rubbing his palms together and pressing them into Loki’s shoulders as he swings his leg over to crouch astride Loki’s hips.  

“What did you have planned for us?” Loki asks into his pillow.  

“Nothing, really. Hunting for a few days, perhaps. Riding. I’d like a swim, but the year is young.”  

“I’m a Frost Giant and you’re a force of nature. I don’t think a little cold water can hurt us. What else?”  

“Is there nothing you want to do?”  

Loki can think of a thousand things.   

“Will you take me up with you? With Mjolnir, I mean?”

Thor’s hands pause in their ministrations and Loki worries, retreats.  

“It was just a thought-“  

"Yes," Thor hisses, squeezing Loki’s shoulders, “Where shall we go?”

“Oh, anywhere. Nowhere. Everywhere. Just up. And for ages.”  

“Mmmm.” 

And Thor continues his massage, lingering on the joints, where the skin suffers the worst of the body’s twists and turns. Loki decides his next game will have higher stakes. He wants a hint, though he may have to give one to get it. He wishes to map Thor’s love for him. Test its limits. Taste it. 

Thor finishes the arms and moves to the lower back, and it’s all Loki can do to keep from grinding into the mattress beneath him. He releases a soft moan instead, to relieve the pressure that’s been accumulating in his nerves for several hundred years.  

“Good?” Thor whispers.  

“Mmmm. Don’t stop.”  

But Thor’s hands disobey for a fraction of a second, stuttering over the base of the spine. Loki notices; Got you, his mind cheers.  

“Lower. Please.”  

Thor rushes a breath through his nose and obliges his brother.  

“That’s marvelous,” Loki sighs.  

Thor agrees. He’s pushing his thumbs into Loki’s tailbone, and he wants to drop and press open-mouthed kisses to the place. Wants to nuzzle two lovely hemispheres until they’re blushing from the brush of his beard. And he can’t do that, but he can’t resist them entirely.  

Thor drags his hands firmly down Loki’s cheeks and then pushes them back up. Loki’s hums happily, so Thor does it again. And it’s like making bread, Thor decides. A repetitive task. He kneads each mound individually for what is probably far too long and then smooths his hands over them, as though he’s shaping dough, before reluctantly moving on to the backs of the thighs.  

“You’ve so much leg. This will take ages.”  

“Just do my ankles.”  

Thor scoots down the bed and does as requested. Afterward, Loki turns halfway onto his left side, pulling his right leg up to hide his erection, and Thor crawls up the bed and drops down beside him.  

“Anywhere else?”  

Loki wants to turn onto his back and tell Thor to touch him everywhere, but he’d be giving the game away a bit.  

“Just my face. It got the worst of it, since it was always exposed. Feels like it’s going to crumble when I smile.”  

Thor puts a drop of oil on his fingertip and daubs it on the most mobile parts of Loki’s face, returning to each spot to spread it out with careful strokes. He does the lines by the eyes and edge of the lips, the grooves in the forehead, and the spots that wrinkle between the eyebrows and at the top of the nose. When Thor is done, Loki furrows his brow, squints, scrunches his nose, and quirks each corner of his mouth.  

“Better?” Thor asks.  

“Perfect, thank you. But now I’m in your debt.” And Loki pushes Thor onto his back and whispers, “Close your eyes,” as he swings a leg over Thor’s hips and sits lightly in the cradle of his pelvis.   

He can feel sparse curls tickling the back of his ass and the warmth of Thor’s thin waist against the insides of his thighs. He leans forward to grab the oil, letting a drop fall audibly into his palm and then stoppers the bottle and abandons it in the sheets, dipping the tip of his fourth finger into the slick warmth cupped in his hand.   

Where to begin? he wonders. And with so many equally appealing options, he decides to be dull and simply start at the top.  

Loki’s finger works its way over Thor’s forehead in neat lines, zigzagging down until it reaches the brows, where it follows their arches in long, firm strokes that curl around the temples in a way that makes Thor smile, which makes Loki hum. Loki rubs the oil into all of his fingertips so he can use both hands to trace the paper-thin skin under Thor’s eyes, rubbing little rings into the wrinkles at the outer corners and extending them down to the earlobes. Thor’s mind kicks itself for forgetting Loki’s ears, because this feels exquisite. The skin is so sensitive. He had no idea. When Loki pinches the lobes lightly and then runs his fingertips along the outer edge of the ear Thor sighs and his hands clasp Loki’s thighs. 

But is it the sensation, or me, that Thor’s appreciating, or a hybrid of the two, Loki wonders. He’s not sure how to split the variables to test them separately. He has no interest in letting someone else touch Thor’s skin, however enlightening it might prove. 

He rubs the rounded bumps that compose Thor’s nose and traces the edges of the nostrils into the laugh lines, following them to the corners of the mouth. When his finger draws the curves of Thor’s upper lip Loki wants to moan; Thor actually does. And Loki feels pressure against his ass. He’s as hard as I am, Loki realizes, stunned, even though this is exactly what he was playing at.  

Thor swears, eyes snapping open, wide with panic.   

He knows, Thor thinks. He’ll hate me. Mock me. Shame me. I’ll lose him. And I’ll deserve it.  

“Loki, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“   

“Shhhh,” Loki soothes, pressing his fingers over both of Thor’s lips, “I’ve been in the same state since you did my back.”  

Thor looks incredulous.  

“Truly?” Thor slurs through Loki’s fingers.  

“Yes,” Loki laughs.  

Loki nods his head in the direction of his hips and Thor hesitantly lifts his head to look, expecting a trap but needing to know.  

“Oh,” Thor says, closing his eyes and going slack with relief.  

“Oh, indeed,” Loki agrees, and continues to trace Thor’s lips before loosely brushing the base of Thor’s throat and his collarbones.  

“Where else?”  

Thor takes a deep breath as he stares at the beauty perched above him: pale skin, raven hair, willowy limbs.  You’re too far away, Thor thinks, and then remembers that his cock is still pressed against Loki’s ass. He shakes his head and huffs a laugh.

“Come down here,” Thor answers, patting the mattress beside him.  

Loki leaves his hands on Thor’s shoulders and leans forward, resting his weight on them before hoisting his left leg and flopping onto his side.  

“May I stay again tonight?” Thor asks, hopeful. Loki has been so generous with his time, his thoughts, and even his person, Thor is fearful his luck with his brother will soon run out.  

“If you like.”  

Thor nods and pulls up the sheet, discovering the bottle of oil and relocating it to the relative safety of the floor before he turns to face his brother.  

“You should sleep,” Thor says. “I’ve kept you awake too long.”  

“It’s all right. That felt wonderful. Far better than sleep.”  

“Aye.”  

“Wake me when you rise. Don’t let me waste the day. I shall sleep when I’m gone.”  

Thor shakes his head no and grabs Loki’s hand, pressing the knuckles into his chest. Loki can feel the heart beating like wings behind Thor’s ribs, and it’s like hearing a secret, so he doesn’t fight Thor’s fingers.  

“Stay,” Thor pleads, and his heart beats faster. So does Loki’s.  

“You’ll be well enough without me.”  

Thor shakes his head again and squeezes Loki’s hand.  

“There is no well enough without you.”  

“Thor-“  

“Please. I cannot,” Thor growls, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to Loki’s.  

“Cannot what?” Loki whispers.  

“Bear it. Not again.” 

This is going well, Loki thinks. He had feared the game had ended for the night, but now it’s playing itself, and Loki is ahead. He hasn’t given up many points and Thor is bleeding truth. And begging. 

Thor takes a shuddering breath and releases Loki’s hand to hold his upper arm instead. Loki pivots his wrist to place his palm on Thor’s breast, so Thor’s heart may continue to beat confessions into his fingers.  

When Thor rubs their noses together, Loki takes that to mean goodnight, and he pinches the torches out before relaxing into his bed and the pleasant warmth radiating from Thor’s skin. Play resumes tomorrow, he tells himself.  

Thor remains still, pulse too high for sleep, fingers gripping Loki’s bicep. It stung him when Loki deemed him fearless, though Loki meant no malice, but it reassured him as well. Thor is no coward, but he has lived long with the fear that he’ll be found out. Loki would accuse him of wearing his heart on his sleeve. And his face. And every other part of his anatomy. But Thor is capable of deception, or secrecy, anyway. Told no one of his greatest joy. Perhaps the task was made easier because this joy never entirely existed, which lent it the likeness of sorrow. It was only a hope, and Thor has come to believe that hope is a wasting sickness. So he will have done with it. He will know what is, and what isn’t, and lay this want to rest one way or the other. If it goes well, he’ll have seven days to celebrate, and if it doesn’t, at least the Bifrost is mended and he can put whole realms between himself and his brother. 

Thor brushes their noses together again while his hand slides up Loki’s arm, cupping the shoulder briefly on its way to the throat.   

Loki loves having Thor’s hand on his throat; it’s a gesture that can never quite be cleansed of threat. 

Thor’s hand continues on its path, pausing to clasp the back of the neck, and the familiarity stirs something reminiscent of sentiment in Loki. But then Thor thrusts his fingers up to thread through Loki’s damp curls, and Loki can hear the rustle of hair against the whorls of fingerprints. It’s so loud, right in his ear, in the quiet darkness of his room, but not loud enough to muffle Thor’s tiny gasp. 

How long have you been mine? Loki wonders, And how much?  

Loki would break his own heart to see what’s inside. He’ll break Thor’s, too. But he can fix it later. And, should Odin’s spell be broken in the process, he’ll deliver his own banishment. Fall from the bridge again. Bait a Frost Giant. Find a war to die in - or make one. He’ll think of something. But he will not rest until he knows exactly what he’ll be missing.

And they both know, at this moment, that they can still walk away with their secrets more or less intact. Could claim that this has all just been a symptom of loneliness, heartbreak, and an excruciating marathon of celibacy. But neither has any interest in doing so. 

Loki puts his hand on Thor’s waist and skims it up his side, delighting in how rapidly it broadens, and then slides it back down to grip Thor’s hip, thumb slowly circling the crest of the bone. Thor lifts his head and presses the sides of their faces together so that they’re breathing next to each other’s ears. His hand smooths Loki’s hair.   

And neither of them stops moving. Hands rub, cradle, and graze while fingers knead, scratch, and trace. They are both hesitant, steering around skin they had touched just moments ago, because even Thor knows they’re playing a different game now.   

Their breaths come faster, egging each other on as if racing. Thor runs his hand down the length of Loki’s spine and Loki moans and presses in on the small of Thor’s back in return. He fails to push Thor toward him, but succeeds in pulling himself closer to Thor. Thor erases what little gap is left between them, tugging Loki flush against him with a heel to the backs of the thighs. Then he slides his leg up higher, hitching it over Loki’s thin hips.  

Loki makes a quiet sound like he’s been wounded, and Thor hugs him close, throwing his head back and panting. Loki can see the pale length of Thor’s neck stretched out before him in the dark and he nuzzles it, turning his face left and right over it, dragging his lips against the stubble there. And he knows Thor likes that. They can hide nothing from each other here. Not even Loki can lie in this position, pressed tight together as they are.  

"Loki."

It’s me. You want me, Loki knows.   

And this is so much better, and so much worse. Loki could have exactly what he’s always wanted. If it were allowed. Thor wants to be ruined. He’s as foolish and broken as I am. This is why I can’t come back.  

"Thor."

Loki mouths at Thor’s collarbone and Thor’s breath hitches. His fingers find their way back into Loki’s hair and guide his head up. Loki puts a hand on Thor’s neck as they nose at each other’s cheeks, eyelashes tickling like snow. And they’ve both stopped breathing. Thor drags his lips from the bend of Loki’s jaw to the corner of his mouth and Loki thinks,  Yes, as Thor’s full lips skim over his thin ones in a perfect tease. When Loki parrots the motion, Thor’s mouth chases his brother’s. He catches Loki’s upper lip between both of his, so Loki snags Thor’s lower lip. 

I can taste you, Loki thinks. You taste like wine and apples, and you’ve had neither tonight.  

Loki sucks his captive farther into his mouth and Thor groans. He tugs Loki’s head back and presses parted lips to everything he can reach, nipping the hills of the cheeks and dipping into the hollows. He tucks black curls behind the pink shell of an ear and pulls the lobe into his mouth. Loki sighs and squeezes Thor’s thigh, tugging it higher on his hip. He follows the leg back until his hand is cupping the curve of Thor’s ass, and the last of Thor’s hesitance thaws. 

They tilt their heads to fit their mouths together, still trading pulls on the plump centers of each other’s lips. When Thor opens his mouth, Loki licks into it and Thor traps his tongue, sucking on it. Loki bucks. They swap and Thor’s hips thrust in turn as his tongue is pulled into wet warmth.

They feel like strangers in their own skin, like their bodies have somehow been dormant all their long lives. They crave contact in places that surprise them. Thor wants his nipples tugged, Loki wants his waist held, and they both want the entirety of their necks given thorough attention. Loki quickly finds that if he wants to be touched in a place Thor has neglected, he need only touch Thor in the corresponding spot. Thor finds the same to be true for his own wants.   

They still haven’t pressed their lips below their collarbones and shoulders, and the imaginary boundary on their skin has grown desperately sensitive. Every cell south of that invisible border is screaming for a kiss and being sweetly ignored. 

They stay like this for hours, reveling in the slow slide of sweat-slick skin and swollen lips, the involuntary language of sighs, moans, and whimpers their voices have adopted. They are wrapped up in each other’s arms and legs as though the night air will try to pry them apart. Both of them are reluctant to let go; afraid that if they leave this place they won’t find their way back.  

Thor is kissing every feature of Loki’s face and Loki is smiling. His eyes are closed and his breath is slowing.  

“Thor?”  

“Mmmm?”  

“We should sleep.”  

Thor finishes kissing Loki’s jawline and sighs, pressing their temples together.  

“I know.” 

Loki ponders how best to lead his brother away from consciousness. He turns his back on him and pulls Thor’s left arm under his neck before draping the right about his waist. Thor takes the bait and curls close against him, kissing the back of his head and tucking the sheet around them. He can feel Thor’s neglected cock resting warm and wet against his backside while his own hovers miserably in front of his belly. Their balls will probably still ache in the morning, but this tension is too wonderful to cut so quickly. Centuries of it. They can never get that back. There will be a before and an after for every touch they exchange, so Loki wants to ration them. They need to last a week.  

“Goodnight, Thor.”

Thor gives him a squeeze and laces their fingers together over Loki’s breast.

“Goodnight.”


	5. Day Three

Loki wakes first. The sun’s light is seeping into the sky, but it hasn’t yet shown its face. Thor is sprawled on his back, his left arm still pinned beneath Loki’s neck, hair fanned out over the pillow. He looks so young like this. Untroubled. Loki wonders what Thor will look like a week from now. What it means that today the sky is clear and the air is warm. If Thor will be able to forgive him. If Thor will be eager to forget him. He’ll find out later. Right now his realm is near-perfect, and he knows better than to rock his own boat.

Loki turns and snuggles into Thor’s side, nuzzling under Thor’s arm. They smell like themselves now, the last traces of soap, oil, and bath water barely detectable. Loki stuffs his face into Thor’s armpit and takes a deep breath, humming throughout the exhale and then planting his head on Thor’s shoulder. Thor smells delicious: like salt, spice, and pine nuts. Loki runs the arch of his foot up Thor’s shin and drags a finger from the base of Thor’s throat to his navel. He wants the night to carry into the day. To see if Thor’s bravery was bolstered by the darkness, or if it will be undiminished in the light.

But what if it he is afraid? Loki wonders. What if it was just curiosity? Or lust? Or boredom? What if he denies me? Laughs at me. Hates me. Hurts me.

Hurt him in turn, Loki thinks.

Tell him he’s the reason you dropped from the Bifrost. It’s even true. Then lie to him. Tell him you never loved him. Tell him he’s unfit for the throne. Tell him he’ll bring ruin to all the realms. Tell him you’re not his brother.  

But, no. This is Thor. He doesn’t like to hurt me. He just can’t seem to help it at times. Like a horse stepping on your toes. 

Loki buries his worries and waits. 

Thor stretches a bit and lifts his head to look at Loki. His voice is thick with sleep.  

“It is early, yet. And still dark under your eyes. Go back to sleep.”  

“In a moment,” Loki agrees.   

Thor turns and puts his other arm around his brother, who melts into the warmth that now surrounds him, sliding a thigh between Thor’s to further twine them together. Thor drops chaste kisses on Loki’s forehead and Loki tips his head up to level his gaze with his brother’s. And Thor smiles at him - that beautiful, lopsided, liquid grin. Loki feels unworthy of such a gift, but he will accept it all the same. 

Thor has a wonderfully nebulous feeling, like his flesh is about to dissolve and give birth to thousands of stars - like their light is already bleeding through his skin. His lovely brother, with his sharp smile and sad eyes, is soft and safe and quiet in his arms; a willing captive. Thor can’t stop his lips from splitting into a grin before seeking out Loki’s own.  

Yes, fearless, Loki thinks as Thor kisses him. Their lips slot together with gentle pressure in exchanges that leave them both breathless. Theyare reassuring each other and themselves. Setting the tone of the day because it is in their power to do so. They have never felt more like gods. 

They drift back to sleep. When they wake again Thor kisses Loki and tells him to sleep while he packs for their hunt. Thor makes it halfway to the door before Loki shouts.

“Stop! Get back here.”  

Thor starts and looks at his brother, puzzled, but complies. Loki sits up and motions Thor closer, then presses his fingertips to seemingly random spots on Thor’s throat.   

“What are you doing?”  

“Healing the bruises I left on your skin.”  

Thor sighs.  

“Must you?”  

“I think it would be safest.”

“I would like to have seen them.” 

“I’ll show you later when I’ve given you more.”  

“I expect they looked much like your own,” Thor smirks, and Loki shoves him. 

Loki wakes when he feels the bed dip. Thor sits down, beautiful and bright-eyed beside him. Loki’s own eyes go wide. Thor’s face is as bare as a boy’s.  

“You really did go to the barber.”  

“Aye. I looked a ruffian.”  

“Come here.”  

Thor bends to oblige him. Loki looks pleased, reaching to touch skin he hasn’t seen in centuries. Thor watches the muscles flex on the back of his brother’s hand, breathes a little deeper to catch the scent of Loki’s wrist. Loki rubs first his fingertips, and then his cheeks, nose, and lips all over Thor’s face. Loki can feel Thor’s laughter vibrating through them both. Thor can feel Loki’s kisses, clear as crystal, against his skin.   

Loki hums and flops his head back down on the pillow.   

“Practicing?” Thor asks.  

Loki quirks a brow and cocks his head.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Setting camp. You’re making a lovely tent with the sheets,” Thor teases.  

“Oh, burn in your boat, you oaf.”  

Thor twists and bends to kiss the head of Loki’s cock through the thin linen, his hair whispering where it falls against the fabric. Then he props himself up on one arm and leans forward to play with Loki’s curls.  

“Where shall we camp?” Thor asks, as though Loki’s tongue is capable of a reply.  

Loki opens his mouth, but he’s forgotten the question.  

“Sorry. What?”  

Thor laughs softly.  

“Where shall we camp tonight?”  

“Are we not camping here in my tent?” 

Even Loki’s eyebrows are smirking.  

Thor giggles and his eyes nearly shut in their attempt to make room for his grin.  

“The pine forest, by the lake?” Loki asks.   

Thor nods.  

“Get dressed and pack your things. I’ll fetch your breakfast.” 

When Loki has eaten and collected everything he thinks he’ll want, Thor leads him out onto the balcony. They sling their bags over their shoulders and Thor’s left arm reaches for Loki.   

“Will you take us all the way to the woods?”  

“That was my plan, unless you wish to walk.”  

“No. I wish to fly.”  

Loki steps onto Thor’s foot and circles Thor’s neck with his arms. His lips murmur a spell to hide them. He can hear Mjolnir whirring through the air, spun by Thor’s right hand. And then their blood drops to their feet as they take flight.  

Loki turns his head to see the palace shrink from view. Thor has given them an unnecessarily high trajectory. Clever thing, Loki thinks. They’ll be able to see for miles. They might even graze the few clouds that dot the sky. And they’ll be in the air for ages. Loki turns and kisses Thor’s cheek to thank him. And because he can.  

Thor puts them down at the edge of the woods. They settle their bundles on their backs and walk into the forest. 

It is impossibly old. The largest trunks are thick enough to hide horses, and the lowest branches are far overhead. The ground is soft beneath their feet, the earth blanketed by pine needles, and it gives off puffs of scent with every crunching step. The air is still and quiet. The only sounds they don’t make themselves are those made by the birds that twitter and flutter overhead. Loki hopes to catch a glimpse of some of them while he’s here.  

They walk for hours before the ground begins to slope down. They are close enough to the lake that they can see the water shimmering between the furthest trunks. Loki stops them once the trees begin to thin and they walk in a line that runs alongside the forest’s edge until he finds what he’s looking for: two parallel pairs of thin trees no more than nine feet apart on the short side and no more than twenty on the long. They lay down their things and set to work.   

Loki is eager to learn what Thor did and did not remember to pack - there’s always something. It doesn’t matter; he can easily conjure what they need, but it’s still fun to tease his brother. He takes out a generous length of rope and Thor helps him to loop it around their chosen trees and secure it up over their heads. Then they unfold the tent itself. It’s a thin, white, tightly woven sheet of fabric shaped like a cross, each arm the same size as the square at the center. They hang it over the two sections of their rope that are parallel and it forms a tidy cube. Loki buttons three of the corners together and then pins down three of the walls, leaving the fourth loose for a door. Thor bends and steps under the flap to set their things inside and Loki takes in the view of his brother’s backside before casting a few protective spells on their temporary dwelling. 

Thor is curious about the contents of his brother’s bag. He had his bow and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder, so it’s not that. Knives are likely. And clean clothes, certainly. But, unless Loki brought fresh garments for a full week, there is quite a bit of something else in there. Thor won’t pry. 

They are warm from their walk, cheeks rosy. It’s late afternoon already. As warm as the day will get.  

“Shall we swim?” Loki asks.  

“It will be cold.”  

Loki snorts.  

Thor groans and presses his fingers to his eyelids.  

“Sorry.”  

“Stop fretting, Thor. It’s funny.” 

Loki joins Thor in the tent and digs through his bag. Thor tries to see inside. Loki’s hands come out with towels, and Oh, Thor thinks, that’s sensible. But he heard other things clinking around in there.

And then Loki’s taking his clothes off and Thor doesn’t know whether he wants to watch, follow suit, or offer his assistance. Really,  the answer is all of those things, but he’s dithered so long now his decision has been made for him: undress it is.

Loki comes over and holds out his hands, taking and folding Thor’s clothes, setting them in a neat stack beside his own. Then he drapes towels over their shoulders and they walk out into the bright spring air. 

The pine needles tickle their feet as they go, and the scent of the trees and the lake thrills their noses. The ground gets greener and softer as they leave the woods; grasses and wildflowers awakening for the season and fleshing out winter’s bones.   

Ahead, the lake stands clear and unbroken, mirroring the forest and sky. Beams of sunlight hit them palpably at the beach, warming grateful skin , and a turtle startles from its basking to slide into the water as they draw near.

“If you weren’t so small I’d name you ‘Soup’,” Loki calls to it, watching through the ripples as it wiggles away from them.  

There’s a strange truth to Loki’s words. They have never eaten turtle in their lives, but Thor knows his brother won’t hunt anything that can’t feed at least two people a full meal. Says it’s a waste of life. Loki likes to sneak out when hunters go after quail and doves and send all their arrows astray.   

Loki’s soft spots are strange and well guarded. Thor has been compiling them all his life, but he has no idea what percentage of the whole his collection represents. 

“Are we hidden now, as we are in our rooms?”  

“Aye,” Loki answers, ankle-deep in the lake.  

“The turtle saw us.”  

Loki smiles and wades farther into the water. Thor follows.  

“We needn’t hide from him or his cousins, apart from those bloody ravens. We’re hidden from our kind.”

“I wish you’d told me before,” Thor says.  

“Why is that?”  

“I wouldn’t have packed so many clothes.”  

Loki laughs.  

“I’m not going to make you wear them. I can send them home now if you like.”  

“Oh?” Thor asks.  

“Certainly. But I think you might need them.”  

“Do you?”  

“Mmmm,” Loki confirms, pointedly eyeing Thor’s hips. “You look rather cold.”  

Thor laughs and splashes Loki, who then launches himself at Thor and takes them both down into the chilly water, to wrestle in the sand and rounded pebbles that line the bottom of the lake.  

When they break the surface, they’re panting and reddened from the cold and the combat. They finally opt to swim properly, making for the center of the lake. Loki rests on his back, pulling himself through the water with long arms, while Thor tips onto his side and swims like the unfortunate offspring of a frog and a hound. Thor is sacrificing grace for a better view of his brother, who cuts through the water as if he was made for the task.  

They float in the middle for over an hour, rising and falling with the air in their lungs, watching the sky, and drifting in lazy circles. Soon the sun will sink below the tops of the trees and the night will be crisp. Their skin is pink from the chill and their nipples have puckered into wrinkled peaks. Thor sees that both of their cocks have slunk away to hide in their groins.  

“The cold is getting to you, too,” Thor says.  

“It’s getting to this skin. If I changed I’d be warm.”  

“Do you wish to change?”  

“No. I like being able to feel the cold.” 

A flock of geese passes over their heads and lands in the lake not far from them.  

“What say you to goose for supper?” Loki asks.

“I was going to ask that of you.”  

“Wait here.”

Loki slips beneath the water, casting a glamour of pebbles and sand over himself and swimming out under the flock. He searches for a suitable candidate for their dinner and soon finds what he’s after: a bird with a broken leg. It feels like there’s one in every flock. The poor unwieldy creatures can’t always have the luxury of landing in water. When they alight on solid earth, all that weight in the neck and breast crashes down on the tiny bones of the foot and ankle. And on uneven ground. It’s a wonder all their legs aren’t broken.  

He grabs the bird by its good leg and jerks it under the water, where he breaks its neck. The rest of the flock scatters but stays in the lake. Not the wisest things. 

Thor sees his brother surface and swim for shore, so he does the same. 

Loki sets the goose down in the grass and they dry off. Their skin is tight and rosy, but the air feels balmy after the chill of the water.  

“Will you fetch our clothes and find branches for a spit? Oh, and a knife and linen sack? They’re in my bag. I’m going to pluck the bird.”

“Aye,” Thor answers, glad to avoid the chore of pulling feathers and pleased to have permission to look through Loki’s things.   

Thor gets the task of setting and minding the fire, but Loki has already collected the wood for him, so it’s hardly any work. Loki guts the goose and calls a needle of ice to his fingertip, piercing the bird’s skin all over before skewering the whole thing with the spit Thor made and setting it over the flames. He bags the flight feathers to make into quills out of habit before he remembers he won’t be needing them. Well, he thinks, I’ll leave them for Thor, then. 

Soon, fat is sizzling as it drips into the fire. Thor shouts when Loki reaches for the bird but then sees that Loki has called ice to protect his hands. He rips the breasts from the keel and blows frosty breath on them before handing one to Thor. It’s perfect, and by the time they’ve finished their breasts, the rest of the bird is ready. 

After dinner, Thor lets the fire die so they can watch the moons come up in the clearing over the lake. He sits beside Loki, close enough that their shoulders are touching, wanting to kiss him, but uncertain of Loki’s mood.  

“Astrid said you haven’t been using our bath.”  

Damn, Thor thinks, but instead answers, “Aye.”  

“Why not?”  

There’s a long pause and Thor sighs.  

“It’s ours. It felt like…” Thor trails off, spreading his hands as if summoning words.  

“Like what?” Loki whispers.  

“A betrayal. To treat it only as mine. And the room felt empty and… wrong.” 

Thor leans forward and wraps his arms around his knees while he stares at the sky. Loki scratches Thor’s back through his tunic and then gives it a pat before rising and walking into the woods. He disappears in the direction of their tent, returning with a small copper pot, a cloth, and a bit of soap. He scoops water from the lake and sets the pot on the coals to warm it. They wash their hands and faces and Thor pours the suds onto the embers, grinning at the resulting hiss and steam.  

“Come on,” Loki says, taking Thor’s hand. “We should make a respectable bed before we’re too tired to do so.”  

Thor sees lights begin to glow within their tent, as though fireflies were trapped inside. He smiles. More of Loki’s sentiment is surfacing. 

They duck in and Loki buttons the flap closed. Thor unrolls the large skins he brought and lays them out together. Elk. They cover most of the floor and will keep the pine needles from poking them as they sleep. Thor moves to sit on the edge of the hides but Loki takes hold of his arm. 

“I brought a few things as well.”

Thor looks puzzled. Loki’s quilt was the only bedding he found in his brother’s belongings when he was fetching the knife. It took up nearly all the room in the bag.  

Loki reaches into his pack and takes out a small sack made of black silk. He begins pulling handkerchiefs, and what look like rabbit and weasel pelts, from it. Loki sets them by his feet, holding one small white square of linen in his hand. He takes two corners between his fingers and snaps the fabric in the air. And suddenly it’s bigger, and floating down to cover the whole of their bed. Loki repeats the action until all the furs and linens lie in a neat heap. Then he takes out two small objects, like pin cushions, and beats them until Thor can tell they are Loki’s pillows.  

Loki grins and Thor rolls his eyes.  

“I’m surprised you didn’t stuff Bergljot in there.”

“I did consider it, but I thought she might be concerned by how much time we’re spending in the tent instead of hunting.”  

And Thor can’t fault that logic. Nor can he speak. He’s used to Loki’s jests being just that: jests. Teases. But this is more like truth than he was expecting. 

Loki tosses his bag by the head of the bed and sits at the foot, taking off his shoes and watching Thor.  

Thor sits beside his brother and tugs off his boots, not sure what he wants to do next; where he’s meant to start. Loki hasn’t been overly affectionate today, but he is exhausted, so surely that’s to be expected. 

Loki scoots back and sits closer to the pillows, patting the space beside him until Thor fills it.  

And suddenly Thor curses and starts laughing.  

“What?”  

Thor closes his eyes and grimaces.  

“I forgot my bow.”

Loki bites his lips to try to stifle his giggling.  

“And my arrows.”  

Loki sputters. Thor sighs.  

“Distracted, were you?”  

Thor grips Loki’s ankle.  

“It’s possible,” Thor admits, smiling.

“What did you remember?”  

Thor shakes his head.  

“I’m beginning to wonder.”  

“Oh dear,” Loki murmurs.  

“I remembered food,” Thor answers brightly. “Fruit. Mostly dried. Breads and biscuits, and the butter for them. Pastries. Cakes. Some marchpane.”

Loki moans at the last item and drops onto his back. But something about the list makes his eyes water more than his mouth. They‘re all foods he likes. Nothing for Thor. Oh, you perfect selfless imbecile, Loki thinks. 

Thor pulls Loki’s stockings off and tosses them to the side of the tent, turning a bit and tugging Loki’s feet onto his lap. He kneads and presses them, the most abused, and often least loved, parts of the body. Thor thinks of his own recently-broken toe and squeezes the corresponding digit on Loki’s foot. The pads are surprisingly plump and soft. He’s reminded of grapes. He raises each foot by the heel and kisses their bony tops and the knobs of the ankles before setting them down and scooting back up the bed to rest beside Loki. 

Loki is lying there with his arms behind his head, unreadable. Thor curls around Loki’s side and hugs him close, nosing his ear and rubbing his arm, soothed by the familiar scent of his sibling. But the longer Thor does it, the tenser Loki gets, and soon Thor is worried. He starts whispering words of reassurance into the shell of Loki’s ear. 

Seconds later, Thor finds himself on his back with his brother kneeling over him, one hand on his throat and the other fisted tightly in his hair. 

“Is this pity?” Loki hisses.   

But he’s holding Thor’s throat too tightly to allow an answer.  

“An excess of affection to soothe my temper?”  

Loki’s fingers flex.  

“Perhaps it’s purchase,” Loki hisses. “Some spectacular act of self sacrifice to buy my smiles.”  

Loki cocks his head and leans in close.  

“Maybe I am merely practice. Are you learning all you can of pleasure while you bide your time, waiting for your queen to make herself known to you? Or am I just an outlet for your frustrated lust for that mortal? Your timing is rather suspicious, Thor. Am I to believe it’s merely a coincidence?”  

Loki shakes Thor by the hair.   

“Well? Which is it? Tell me!”  

And Loki releases his hold on Thor, jumps to his feet, and backs away.   

Thor doesn’t know where he went wrong.   

Loki’s stance is defensive, his hands are fisted, and his nostrils are stretched wide to let in heaving breaths. Thor sits up slowly, jaw clenched, staring at his brother. He waits until he’s calm enough for conversing instead of screaming and makes two abortive attempts at speech before his abused throat is able to the task.

“It’s not pity,” Thor rasps.  

And Loki knows it’s cruel to make Thor fight with words - a weapon he has yet to master - but he will have his answer.  

"What, then, Thor?”

“You know what this is. Why are you-“

“I don’t!” Loki shouts.

The muscles in Thor’s jaw jump, and Loki can see his brother struggling to sit still and to resist the urge to get up and try to throttle his thoughts into him.  

Loki sighs and lets his shoulders sag.  

“I know you, Thor. Your generosity is nearly boundless. I fear it could easily extend this far. And you’ve been as solitary as I have in these matters. You must be nearly as lonely.” 

Odin had made it clear early on that they were not to run about peopling Asgard with heirs. They were uncharacteristically obedient on this count.

“Come here,” Thor growls, and pats the space beside him, but Loki shakes his head no.  

Thor flops down onto his back and takes several deep breaths.  

“This is… I want…” Thor huffs, like a spoiled child given chores, but he’s never been one to surrender, so Loki waits. Thor stares at the softly sagging ceiling of the tent for several minutes and then drags his hands over his face.  

“I’ve wanted you,” Thor says, voice low and even, making Loki’s pulse jump and the hair on his arms raise. “Wanted this. Since before I even knew what it was.” Thor tips his head up, face almost grim. “And when I say this, I mean everything. I mean last night. And more. And I won’t say it isn’t lust, but that isn’t all, do you understand me, brother?”  

“You’ve barely touched me today,” Loki counters.  

“Because I don’t know what you want! I don’t know what’s allowed.” Thor scowls. “And you haven’t touched me, either.”   

By the Nine, I sound like a boy, Thor thinks, and grimaces.  

Loki sits back down by Thor’s feet and strokes his shin until he hears Thor’s breathing even out. Then he crawls up and straddles his brother’s hips, reaching to heal the strained throat, and Thor doesn’t flinch or bat so much as an eyelash, and thank the Norns for that.  

“What is this to you?” Thor asks, lifting his head.  

Loki tucks Thor’s hair behind his ears and peers into clear blue eyes. One of our ancestors must have been elvish, Loki thinks, Or a wolf. Well, one of Thor’s, anyway.

“This?” Loki answers, voice soft, fingers tracing the bones of Thor’s face, “This is my hopeless hope, brother. It’s what I’ve been running from. And fighting for. And wishing I could stop wanting.”  

Thor nods.  

“And what do you want?” Thor whispers.  

“You.”  

“I was always yours,” Thor says, shaking his head. “What may I have from you?”   

“All I can give,” comes Loki’s maddeningly collected reply. “What may I ask in return?”  

“Anything,” Thor grins.  

Loki sucks in a short breath and nods.  

It’s getting cold enough to see Thor’s breath. The birds have gone quiet and the woods are asleep. Loki crawls past Thor and pulls a low black bowl from his bag, placing it on the ground past their feet. He drops a handful of pine needles into it, setting them ablaze and casting two spells; one to magnify the heat they give off as they burn, and another to slow their incineration. The strange fire will keep them warm until sunrise and stave off the aching muscles they were heading toward, with all their tension and the chill. 

Loki takes out his quilt and lays it over them while they wait for the air to warm. Frigga made it when he was born, or, rather, when Odin brought him home. It’s almost as old as he is. A shimmering black ground with the stars embroidered in gold on one side and a longboat at sea on the other, two figures inside of it, in swirls of green thread. When Loki lays the quilt out over himself he always puts the figures on the side facing him and aims the stars back at the sky. He fell in love with the strange seafarers once he was old enough to decipher them in the design. The figure on the left has thin arms and full thighs; the one on the right has broad shoulders and a narrow waist. They both have their hands folded over their chests, gripping the hilts of swords. Gold stitching forms a wreath around them, made of tiny tongues of flame.   

It broke Loki’s heart a bit when he realized they were both dead; that, though he had clutched them to his breast for centuries, they had always been beyond his reach. 

Thor finds Loki’s hand under the blanket, pressing it in his own and then carrying it up to his lips to drop kisses on the knuckles, remembering how bloodied they were a week ago. Thor hums and then turns to rifle through his bag. Loki props himself up on his elbows to watch.  

The bottle of almond oil surfaces in Thor’s hand. It’s cold against his skin and he crawls down the bed to set it by the fire.  

“I wondered where that went,” Loki admits. “I looked for it on the bedroom floor and in the bath this morning.”  

“Sorry. Did you need it?”  

Thor looks genuinely worried. Loki laughs.   

“Fret not, brother. I am well. I was going to pack it myself. I’ve grown rather fond of it.”  

“Mmmm.” 

Thor lies back down beside him and pulls the blanket all the way over their heads, then tugs Loki close, snaking arms and a leg around him until they’re belly to belly in the dark. Thor can smell the smoke from their cooking fire in Loki’s hair and the lake water on his skin as he presses his nose behind his brother’s ear.   

Soon Thor is tugging Loki’s shirt out of his leggings and slipping his hand under it, splaying his fingers over sharp shoulder blades. Loki loosens the laces at the neck of Thor’s tunic and pulls it open, lightly scratching the exposed skin. They’re getting warm, breaths mingling in the pockets of air between them. Loki pushes the coverlet down to their waists and pulls Thor’s shirt to one side at the neck, baring his shoulder and pressing kisses so light they tickle on the skin there. But the band of muscle curving between the back of the neck and the top of the arm is too tempting, and Loki takes it between his teeth, squeezing gently. Thor gasps and Loki drags his canines over the skin before nipping his way to the defenseless earlobe that’s been taunting him.  

He alternates between biting and sucking on the peachy little piece of flesh and Thor’s short swift breaths have Loki thinking he's driven his brother to distraction. Thor chooses that moment to smooth his hand all the way down Loki’s back, grabbing a handful of  Loki’s ass and grinding their hips together.

Loki curses and Thor stops Loki’s mouth with his own, swallowing the pleased hum that trickles from the trickster’s throat and twining their tongues together.

And then Thor is up on his knees over his brother, turning Loki onto his back and tugging the laces loose on his tunic. Loki sits up and together they get his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Thor presses him back down on the bed and lies half on top of him, propping himself up with one arm while the other roams in graceful arcs over planes of pale skin. He watches the rise and fall of Loki’s chest and lowers his lips to kiss the ribs that show between the shallow muscles of the breast. From there it’s a matter of inches to the inviting swell of a nipple, and Thor makes no attempt to resist its call. When he puckers his lips, the peak fits perfectly into their center, and he gives just the slightest pull of suction to tease it.   

Loki’s hands twist in Thor’s tunic.  

“Take this off.”  

Thor has the garment over his shoulders and in a heap with Loki’s own in seconds. Then he’s back on all fours, hovering over Loki until  Loki reaches up to pull them tight together. The swath of skin where their bodies touch feels as receptive as a fingertip. Their kisses grow longer and fiercer, teeth gripping lips and framing jaws. Loki’s hands are tracing the muscles of Thor’s back, following  them down into his trousers, but the belt stops his wrists, cutting the trip short.

“Off,” Loki says, tugging the offending articles.

Thor sits back, opting to interpret Loki’s words as being intended for each of them. He unhooks his own belt, loosens the waistline of his leggings, and slips them off. Then he moves on to Loki’s clothes, undoing the laces and then easing soft leather over slim hips, which lift off the bed in assistance. He sees a dark spot on the buckskin, and when Loki’s cock bobs free there’s a clear strand of fluid connecting him to his clothes. When the distance grows too great, it snaps, falling in a silver line on Loki’s thigh. Thor traces the thread with his fingertip and brings it to his tongue. He can see Loki’s chest heave out of the corner of his eye, and he hears a sharp breath. They can smell each other’s skin, some inimitable mix of salt and oil, sweetness and musk.  

They don’t know what they want to do. Too many things they’ve been thinking of for too many years. And too little experience.  

Thor sticks with a tradition of sorts. He crawls down to the foot of the bed and fetches the oil from the fireside. Now it’s as warm as they are, and when he opens it it smells even lovelier than usual.  

He takes a drop on the tip of his finger and stoppers the bottle, crouching to draw the lines of Loki’s face and then bending to kiss him. Loki reaches up and shakes Thor’s hair until it falls around their cheeks, concealing them in a blond cocoon. They stay like that for many minutes, sharing breaths and kisses, trading sighs like secrets.  

Thor presses a firm kiss to Loki’s lips, rubs their noses together, smiles, and then moves aside to lie down on his back. He turns his face toward Loki, who rolls over to stare at Thor, curious, eyes devouring everything.  

Thor is laid out like a feast. Skin like cream and honey. Flesh swelling in rolling hills. Expression warm. Posture languid.   

“Come closer,” Thor says, eyes bright.  

Loki edges over, pressing his front to Thor’s side, and Thor’s smile grows wider.

“Closer,” Thor says.  

Loki curls forward to nuzzle Thor’s cheek.  

“Closer,” Thor whispers.  

And Loki presses their lips together until Thor moans and pulls his away.  

“Closer,” Thor murmurs, with the faintest toss of his head and the slightest parting of his thighs. 

And Loki listens. He lays his body over his brother’s and feels Thor’s arms wrap around him, legs falling apart to let Loki kneel between them. And Thor is stroking Loki’s skin like the strings of a harp, kissing a line up the thin skin of the neck until his lips rest at Loki’s ear. And Loki knows what’s coming, but that does nothing to dull the effect it has on him. 

"Closer.” 

Loki gets up onto one elbow, arms shaking, face flushed. He fumbles for the bottle of oil. Thor is merciful, taking it gently from his hand and opening it for him. Loki cups a palm and Thor fills it. And then he takes himself in hand, moaning at his own touch while Thor rubs his back. There’s a groan when Loki’s slick fingers move to grip Thor’s cock, coating it with oil. The skin is hot in Loki’s hand, and the way Thor’s eyes slide shut and his mouth falls open is so lovely Loki has to look away, focusing instead on the base of Thor’s throat. But that’s no better; it’s smooth and taut and starting to show the faintest sheen of sweat, and Loki wants to lick it off, but he’s uncertain of the etiquette of the bedroom. He doubts there’s much that would offend his brother. Still, he’d rather wait until he has more mastery of his faculties before he does another thing that’s certain to dissolve them.  

Thor turns his face toward Loki’s and kisses the curve of his jaw.   

“Closer,” he rumbles, and Loki feels the word as much as hears it.  

Loki takes himself in hand again and presses the head of his cock to the puckered skin between Thor’s legs. He pushes forward, but nothing happens; he’s met with more resistance than he was expecting. He tries again and Thor makes a happy sound, but the result is the same. Loki is trying to think of a spell to employ when Thor takes Loki’s hand away from their hips and brings it up to rest behind his neck. Now Loki is up on his elbows and knees, and it’s almost as if he’s bound; arms pinned behind Thor’s head, long legs busy suspending his hips over his brother’s. Then Thor’s hand snakes down to grip Loki’s cock.  

Loki hears a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a whimper: a whine. He tells himself it could have come from Thor.  

Thor lines him up and, without any warning, flattens his other hand over Loki’s tailbone, pushing Loki’s hips forward. Loki feels an impossibly tight ring stretch over his skin, still resisting, but then he crosses some kind of threshold and finds himself being pulled in until his hips are flush with Thor’s. And Thor’s legs slide up to wrap around him and his arms press Loki to his chest. 

I’m caught, Loki realizes with a secret glee. Thor was the hunter, the trap, and the bait, and I fell for it. I crawled right into him.  

Loki thinks of the things wild animals do when they’ve been captured. Either thrashing about in a desperate bid for freedom or lying still, breathing like the beating of a moth’s wings, hoping to be left in one piece. He’s doing a good impression of the latter. 

Thor is stroking Loki’s hair, loving the way it slides through his fingers, seeing the strange straight streak of blond behind Loki’s left ear and feeling his pride in his brother swell. Loki turns to kiss him and Thor’s mouth opens under his. Thor’s hands smooth over his skin with something resembling reverence, and Loki can only lie there, trapped in Thor’s strange tenderness.  

When Thor sucks Loki’s tongue into his mouth as lewdly as anyone could ever hope to do, Loki hums, and his hips jerk. Thor grins. The smile is not unkind, but Loki catches something in it that stops his breath. A whiff of something predatory.   

And Loki remembers, with a sensation like the happy cousin of panic, that Midgard worshipped his brother not only for thunder, but for fertility.   

Thor’s hands girdle Loki’s hips and slowly lift them up before slamming them back down. Loki’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens on a silent cry. Thor smirks and licks into parted lips, then lifts Loki’s hips again, lowering them slowly this time. Loki nods before resting his forehead on Thor’s. Part of him wants to resist, to drag this out, but he can’t: he is both too tired and too eager. 

He finds a rhythm he likes and tries to keep his belly from smashing Thor’s balls, but Thor doesn’t seem bothered, so he lets himself sag into the warm body beneath him. Thor has his eyes closed and his head thrown back and Loki is grateful for the privacy it provides. He can watch his movements play out on Thor’s face. The way he bites his lip. Or knits his brow. Or smiles. Loki can let his own guard down. Sip short breaths through his slack jaw like some simpleminded thing. Stare unabashed. Mouth words he'll never say. Grimace at his disintegrating self control.  

His mind is swiftly losing its battle of wills with his body. His hips snap faster and his shoulders shake. His neck is tired and aching, but his eyes won’t let him drop his head and risk missing some secret expression of Thor’s. 

They’re both breathing hard and growing tense.  

“Don’t stop,” Thor says, and reaches down to grip himself between their bellies. Loki can’t tell if it was an order or a plea, but it doesn’t matter; he finds each option equally appealing.

He feels Thor’s knuckles sliding against his navel and watches Thor’s brow wrinkle and his lips tighten into a thin line. He looks like he’s in pain. It’s beautiful. Thor’s free hand finds its way back to Loki’s ass and Loki moans. Something in Thor shifts, his sinews stiffen. With three swift strokes, Thor spills between them, painting their bellies with warmth as he gasps out broken sounds. Muscles clench and flutter around Loki and he drives into them hard and lets go, waves of pleasure pulsing through his nerves as he slumps over Thor with a sigh.  

Loki wakes to the strange sensation of his cock sliding free of Thor’s body. 

Thor wakes to Loki’s cursing and squirming. 

Floating points of light follow them down to the lake. They bathe in the cold water and it chases the sleep from their bones, but they are both grateful for that; neither wants to miss the sights on display. Long limbs dripping and shining. Hair clinging to handsome faces. Slender fingers swiping at slick skin. Shy smiles softening sharp features.  

They wade together through the water and Thor pulls Loki to his chest as they stand knee-deep in the lake. Loki lays his head on Thor’s shoulder.  

“That was the bridal position,” Loki murmurs.  

“Mmmm,” Thor affirms.  

“How very traditional of us.”  

Their laughter echoes across the water. 

Thor takes Loki’s arm as they walk back to the tent, nudging each other with their hips all the way. They feel intoxicated. Happy and aimless. Warm and sated. Inside, they share an apple, craving something sweet, sitting cross-legged in their nest.  

“You’ll do your face an injury with all that smiling,” Loki teases.  

“I shall be in good company.”  

Loki looks surprised and Thor laughs gently. He pushes their pillows close together and pulls back the linens. They tuck themselves into the bed, stretching and settling. Loki extinguishes all but two of the lights, sending them to the corners over their heads. 

“Like this again,” Loki says, pulling Thor’s front flush against his back, resting his thin neck on a thick arm.

Thor hums his approval, squeezes Loki’s waist, nips the back of his neck, and buries his nose in soft black curls.

They doze for a few hours. When Loki wakes it’s still dark and silent in the woods. He conjures a few more lights and carefully rolls onto his back, turning his head to take a peek at Thor, surprised to find him staring back.  

“Have you not slept?” Loki asks.  

“I woke not long before you did.”   

“Are you well?”             

“Aye,” Thor says, eyes soft.

Thor pulls Loki up onto his side to face him and winds their legs together. Dark curls fall over Loki’s face. Thor brushes them back, replacing them with warm fingers. Loki makes a pleased sound at Thor’s touches, leaning into them.  

“Should I let you sleep?” Thor asks.  

“If you do I’ll never forgive you.”

Thor smiles. His fingers continue their investigation of Loki’s features. He is captivated by the firm cartilage that forms the tip of Loki’s nose, pushing it from side to side and around in small circles. Loki doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are closed, but there are creases at their corners where his cheeks are lifting in a smile. Thor slides his thumb over the seam of Loki’s lips, pulling the lower one down to expose bright teeth. Loki’s jaw falls open slightly and warm air puffs out of it. Thor runs the pad of his thumb over the tips of the teeth and Loki traps it, biting gently before closing his lips around it and pulling it into his mouth.   

The texture of Loki’s tongue makes Thor think of pears as it laves the meat of his thumb.  

They shift to wrap their arms around each other. Loki presses a flurry of kisses to Thor’s smiling face, throws a thigh over his hip, and sways into his brother. The gruff laughter in Thor’s throat makes Loki grin and press his mouth to Thor’s neck. He wants to taste Thor’s joy. He succeeds in tasting his sweat, and strikes it from his mental list of the four drops of Thor he wants to sample.  

He leans into his brother until Thor topples onto his back and then he climbs up to kneel astride him. He smooths his hands over Thor’s chest, raising gooseflesh on the skin there.  

Thor loves the view. Firm shoulders silhouetted against the the tent above them. Eyes shining down on him like stars. He slides his hands up the slim thighs that bracket his sides, squeezing the joints of the hips. Inky curls tickle his face like strands of spider silk as Loki leans down to kiss him.  

They make such thorough explorations of each other’s mouths they could both recite the number of ridges on their brother’s palate, the positions of the sharpest peaks of the molars, and the exact shape of the lips.  

Loki is sucking on Thor’s tongue, loving the way Thor’s cock responds to each pull of his lips by pressing against his ass. He nudges Thor’s chin up with his nose so that he can mouth at the apple of the throat and trail hungry lingering kisses down onto the  collarbones. 

Thor’s lips try to follow his brother’s, but Loki presses Thor’s head back down to the pillow with cool fingers. He rises on his hands and knees and drops a kiss to Thor’s brow before crawling backward down his brother’s body, leaving more kisses in his wake. The sound Thor makes when Loki’s teeth tug at his nipples would be frightening in any other context, but here it can only be encouraging.  

Muscles flex and jump in Thor’s belly as Loki’s touches tickle them. The scent of Thor’s skin is getting heavier and darker. But there’s a sweetness to it, too, and Loki’s mouth waters, wanting to know its flavor. He swings his head to one side and grabs a hipbone between his teeth.   

He can feel Thor’s eyes on him, so he tucks his hair behind his ears to make sure Thor can see.    

Loki’s tongue dips into the hollow of the hip and follows it to the crease of the thigh. He sucks a bruise there while the skin of Thor’s sac swirls against his cheekbone and he hears his brother gasp. He nuzzles Thor’s balls, loving the tickle of the hair and the surprisingly fruity musk he meets there. Then he drags the cool tip of his nose up the base of Thor’s cock, resting it on the head while his lips press the sensitive arrow of flesh in front of them. He kisses his way back down and then up again, over and over, craning his neck to reach the front. He gives Thor no warning before he stretches his jaw wide and dives down, burying his nose in dark blond curls.   

Loki shivers with pleasure when he hears Thor moan his name. He drags his tongue along the underside of his brother’s cock and hollows his cheeks as he draws up and off with a wet pop. And then he puts his lips over his teeth, pulls Thor’s cock back into his mouth, and bobs his head until his jaw aches. When he needs a rest he wraps a hand around Thor and strokes him the way he likes to touch himself: tight and with a twist at the top. Soon he’s bending to put his lips at the end of his hand and making swift shallow bobs with his head. Thor’s hips begin to rise and his legs tense. Loki feels warm fingers clamp around the wrist he’s resting his weight on. He realizes Thor is speaking. 

“Loki? Loki, I’m going to spill." 

It’s a whisper.  

Loki only moans and carries on with his ministrations.  

“Loki.”  

Loki looks Thor in the eye and hums, nodding his head minutely to ease his brother’s mind.   

Thor drops his head back down on the pillow and breathes faster. Seconds later he stops breathing altogether as his body goes taut and he groans, spurting down Loki’s throat.   

Loki remains still, feeling the last of Thor’s seed trickle out into his mouth. He swallows it down and pulls off gently, swirling the taste on his tongue. It’s not the metallic bite of blood or battle that he was expecting from his brother. Thor’s seed tastes much like Loki’s own: tangy and alive. And there’s something like buttered bread about it, of which Loki entirely approves.   

Thor reaches both arms out to his brother, fingers bending to beckon him, and Loki goes, pulling the quilt up with him. They face each other on their sides, warm and boneless. Thor is stroking Loki’s face, neck, hair, and arm, smiling so brightly Loki has to shut his eyes.   

“Brother,” Thor sighs, and feels Loki’s fingers tighten on his hip.  

“You would call me brother, still? Even here? Like this?”  

“Aye,” Thor nods, looking at Loki as though the answer is obvious. “Always. Because that’s what you are." Thor puts a light smack on the back of Loki’s head as punctuation.

Loki hugs Thor tightly and breathes his thanks into blond hair.  

And thank the Norns for making you as hard-headed as you are soft-hearted, Loki thinks.


	6. Day Four

They don't mean to fall asleep, but they are too happy to move. When they wake, the fire is out and the forest is bright. The lights in the tent are barely visible as Loki calls them back to his hand.

Their flesh is damp and tender where they’ve been pressed together all night. They stretch out on their backs, arms and legs spread wide, to let the blood back into their limbs. Cool morning air soothes their skin and stirs their thoughts.

Loki’s stomach makes a sound like an angry boar and Thor convulses with laughter.  

“I think your belly has learned to throw its voice,” Loki says, nearly straight-faced.   

“I think you’re starving,” Thor grumbles, shaking his head and reaching for his bag.  

Thor pulls out a brick-shaped thing wrapped in paper and sets it between them. He opens it to reveal a loaf of dense sweet bread studded with nuts and fruit. Loki nods his approval and they eat it in bed over the paper, pressing the crumbs onto their fingertips and nibbling them off again. Loki ties the flap of the tent open and shakes the paper into the woods, hoping to attract birds with the remaining morsels of their breakfast. 

It’s nearly noon, but they lie down again anyway. Loki keeps an ear cocked for the flutter of wings as he and Thor burrow into the blankets. They have each independently decided that yesterday’s mistakes will not be repeated. They will be free with their affections. Loki knows he is long out of practice. But there was a time that touching his brother was as basic as breathing to him. He dwells on those days. 

Hugging Thor close behind long curtains, his tiny hands clapped over both of their mouths as they hid from Frigga, who always knew where they were and always pretended not to. Gripping his arm as they jostled each other, seated in the tiny cart Odin built for them and hitched to two energetic goats. Hugging Thor’s waist as they went bouncing around the paddock on their first pony. Drying his tears with his sleeve when he’d hurt himself, or had his heart broken - when Thor’s favorite mare died he wept for days. Dancing with Thor in their rooms when the rest of the palace was at a ball, door cracked so they could listen to the music that floated down the halls. Learning to braid hair by practicing on his brother. Tracing the lines of Thor’s palms, naming them as though they were roads. Riding on Thor’s back, whispering left or right orfaster into Thor’s ear. Standing barefoot on his shoulders to pick apples and pears, his brother’s hands bracing his ankles. Tickling Thor’s armpits in the bath while he washed his hair, blind and defenseless. Straightening Thor’s clothes, whether they needed it or not. Tapping his tiny nose. Drawing on Thor’s skin with Frigga’s kohl and painting his lips with the little pots of berry stains she used on her own. Reading to Thor until hoarse, Thor’s head pillowed on his belly, and then running his fingers through blond hair until they were both asleep. Taking Thor’s arm, delighting in the size and strength of it, as they walked together through the palace. 

Loki curls up behind his brother and kisses the bumps of his spine. He wraps one arm under Thor’s neck and the other around his waist and laughs.  

“I’m not broad enough for this. It’s like embracing a wall.”  

Thor chuckles and knits their fingers together over his heart before bringing Loki’s hand up and kissing the palm.  

Loki buries his nose in Thor’s hair and takes a deep breath.   

“You smell like a meadow in the rain,” Loki says, almost to himself.  

“I can’t tell whether you approve of that or not.”  

“You don’t need my approval,” Loki answers. “But you have it.”  

Thor squeezes his hand.  

“What do I smell like?” Loki asks.  

Thor turns over, grinning.  

“Let me check,” he says, pushing Loki onto his back. 

Thor’s sniffing and pawing make Loki think of an enthusiastic hound and he giggles and shakes his head.  

Thor is undeterred and his nose continues its inventory of Loki’s scents, pressing into his hair and neck, under his arms, up to his belly, between his legs, and all the way down to his feet. Thor’s hair tickles Loki throughout these investigations, making him twitch and squeak.  

Thor climbs back up, wraps Loki in his arms, and delivers his diagnosis.  

“Your feet smell like pine needles at the moment, but that’s likely a symptom of your surroundings. I’m sure they normally smell like dung and dirty stockings.”  

Loki huffs and rolls his eyes, elbowing his brother as best he can from the confines of his arms.  

Thor squeezes him and kisses his temple.  

“You smell like you. The way you always have.”  

“That’s tremendously helpful.”  

Thor laughs and sighs, going quiet for several minutes. 

“Your hair smells a bit like herbs. Rosemary, perhaps. But without that pungent character it can have. With some sort of sweetness to it. And something smoother. Wet, somehow. Your underarms do smell pungent.”  

Loki narrows his eyes at his brother and Thor huffs a laugh and bites Loki playfully.  

“It’s not offensive. It’s quite nice, I think. Feels like taking in a lungful of lavender. Or drinking ale from a tankard. Astringent and bright. Almost metallic.”  

Loki hums and Thor’s fingers trace his ribs.  

“There’s something of fresh cream to most of your skin,” Thor murmurs. “Rich and animalic. Soft. And salty like the air by the sea. But between your legs you smell like autumn. Like fallen leaves and rain and earth.”  

Loki nods.  

“It’s lovely,” Thor says.  

Loki kisses him. 

Thor falls asleep again and Loki lets him stay there. He props himself up on an elbow to watch his brother breathing and keep an eye out for birds. He’s successful on both counts. Tiny grey juncos flutter to the forest floor to share the crumbs of their breakfast. The creatures are plump and sprightly. Winter was kind to them.   

Thor’s chest rises and falls with flawless regularity. His face is soft this morning, lips parted slightly, a day’s growth of beard on his jaw. He looks young and whole and perfect. And it’s a lie. Thor is strange and ancient and heartbroken, though perhaps still perfect - Loki won’t discount that possibility.  

He watches the gentle shifting of his brother’s ribs and belly, and each breath terrifies him with its promise that now there is one less; Loki is seeing the grains of sand that make up his brother’s life slip through the neck of the hourglass. Their days have been allotted. Generously, but still. Even Odin, with Idunn’s apples and all his magic, is powerless in this. Forced to hibernate through much of the winter of his life, like the bear that he is. There is no hope for Thor, and he doesn’t fear his own death, as Loki knows all too well. Somehow that makes it worse. 

When the birds depart Loki wipes his cheeks and rises. He saunters down to the lake and fills their canteens with water. The turtle is back, sunbathing and eyeing him warily. He winks at it. His brother is awake and waiting for him when he returns to the tent. 

Thor can see Loki’s eyelashes are wet and stuck together, but the rest of his features are dry, so he hasn’t been washing his face. He suspects a direct display of the worry he feels would be unwelcome, so he just curls his fingers, asking Loki to come back to bed. Loki thrusts a jug of water into Thor’s outstretched hands and Thor scowls.  

“I wasn’t asking for water, I was asking for you.”

“Drink some water and you can have me.” 

Thor raises his eyebrows with the canteen and Loki tries to disguise his laughter with a groan.  

Thor stoppers the bottle and sets it aside, patting the spot in front of him. Loki slots into the space before Thor, his back to his brother.   

“Will you turn around for me?”  

Loki sighs, but grants Thor’s wish.  

Thor pulls him close with an arm and a leg and kisses the tip of his nose. And Loki is bracing himself for Thor’s questions; he can still see the tears sparkling on his own eyelashes, so he knows Thor can see them from here. Thor takes a deep breath and Shit, shit, shit. Here it comes, Loki thinks. But Thor only hums and then kisses his cheek, rubs his lower back, and palms his ass.  

“Shall we bathe?” Thor asks.  

“That depends on what you want for dinner. We could, perhaps, hunt birds like this, but no other game will come within a mile of us, smelling as we do.”  

Thor smiles.  

“Oh?”  

“Mmmm. We reek of sweat. And sex. And breakfast. And probably self satisfaction in your case.”  

Thor snorts and smacks Loki’s backside and Loki presses their foreheads together.  

And then Thor’s kissing him. If Thor wants dinner he’ll have to get up and lead the way; Loki doesn’t have the fortitude to remove himself from a bed full of his brother for a second time. 

The sheets and pelts still hold the heat from their skin and Thor folds them back into it. Loki lets the whiskers on Thor’s chin tickle his fingertips and then allows his lips the same pleasure, dragging them over the stubble.   

Their shyness has left them and they are able to meet each other’s eyes without that strange sensation of trespassing that often accompanies the action. Thor tips Loki’s chin up with his nose and sucks the apple of the throat into his mouth.  

Loki wants to cast a spell on them like the one he used on the fire last night; to slow their actions. He wants to draw this out so that Thor’s kisses won’t reach his thighs until sunset. He wouldn’t spill until well after midnight. But Thor would probably be miffed when they spent the next two days recovering from a single bout of sex. Still. It would be marvelous. Maybe that’s how they can spend their last day together, assuming Thor is still speaking to him. 

A low moan calls Loki back to himself. Thor has a nipple trapped between his lips and is evidently quite pleased with his catch. Loki threads his fingers through Thor’s hair to scratch his scalp and Thor hums, sucking harder on the pink peak of flesh. Thor kisses his way down the rib cage and into the dip in Loki’s side.  

“There,” Loki says.  

“Where?”  

“My waist. Straight across it.”  

Thor circles his brother’s belly with a belt of kisses, turning him onto his front to complete it. He sucks a bruise onto the base of Loki’s spine and flips him onto his back again. Thor nudges long legs apart and kneels between them, pulling the heels up alongside him, forcing the limbs to fold up in front of him where he can reach them. He twists and kisses his way up a thigh, nibbling and sucking on the fullest part of it before doing the same to the other leg. 

Loki is watching Thor, barely blinking. Thor pushes Loki’s knees farther apart and it causes his thin hips to lift. He slides his hands along the insides of Loki’s legs and runs his fingertips through the crease at the groin. Loki’s eyes close briefly. Thor bends and buries his nose in the junction of a thigh and Loki jerks. He flattens his tongue against the base of Loki’s cock and drags it to the tip. Loki cries out. Thor does it again and again, painting the petal-smooth skin with firm slow strokes and then pulling the head between his lips.  

Thor likes it. It’s like having a whole plum in his mouth. He feels spoiled. Starved. Gluttonous. He slides all the way down to the  black fur at the base and the sound Loki makes has Thor’s cock dripping. In sympathy. Or want. Or both.

He pulls up, but not off, keeping his lips pressed to the crown, slowly spreading them as he descends again. Loki’s hips rise to meet him and Thor thinks that’s brilliant. He wedges his hands under Loki’s ass and heaves it up, filling his mouth with hot skin and filling the air with his brother’s moans. They carry on like that, Thor’s head static over Loki’s hips, letting them thrust up, lips tight around taut skin. When Loki’s movements falter, Thor picks up the slack, pulling him home, not breaking their rhythm when Loki breathlessly warns him that he’s going to spill. His hands lift the pretty panting god until he stiffens and shouts, pouring out into Thor’s hungry mouth.  

Thor drinks him down and then puts his brother’s hips back on the bed. Loki tastes like oats and mead and grass to Thor’s tongue. Like summer.  

He drops down beside his brother, unable to hide his smiling, but he doesn’t have to try yet; Loki’s eyes are still closed. When their breathing calms, Thor crawls away to get a canteen and Loki accepts it gladly. Thor drinks in the sight of his brother’s throat working around the water, head thrown back, elbows in the air. Freyja herself never had half his beauty, Thor thinks. 

“Shall we swim?” Thor asks when Loki’s finished, pleased to see his brother’s lips curved in a smile.  

Loki nods. Thor stands and hoists him from the bed, leaving their fingers tangled together as they walk to the lake. 

They laugh as the turtle again scrambles away from them. Thor pulls Loki to him by the waist as they wade out into water and Loki spins  to face Thor, draping an arm around his neck while he hooks a leg behind his calves and takes his feet out from under him. They plunge sidelong into the lake and come up sputtering with the shock of the cold. Loki climbs up into Thor’s arms, soaked  and grinning.

“Dare I ask what you’re so happy about?” Thor asks.  

“I think I owe you an apology, brother.”

“Oh?”  

“Mmmm. I am deeply sorry, and glad to have been proven wrong. It seems I’ve gravely underestimated the skill of your tongue all these years.”

Thor can see where this is going and groans. Loki is undeterred.  

“It was an easy mistake to make, as its gift lies not in speech. But I think we’ve found its true purpose.” 

Loki shouts as Thor wrestles them back to the bottom of the lake, pinching Loki’s backside the entire time.  

A mess of black hair obscures his face when he comes up to breathe and Thor abuses his brother’s blindness, catching him up in his arms and tossing him over his shoulder, smacking his ass and thighs where they perch beside his head.  

“Thor, your punishments are pathetic. I find them indistinguishable from rewards.”  

Thor laughs and nips Loki’s hip before setting him down. 

“Shall we have a race?” Loki asks.  

“I think so,” Thor says.  

“Across the lake and back?”

“Aye. And what’s the prize?”  

“The winner may decide once the race is done.”  

Thor raises his eyebrows.

“Worried?” Loki asks.  

“Terrified.”  

“Straight through the center. First one back on this sand wins. You can run as far as you’re able.”  

Thor nods. 

They use the edge of the water as their starting line and count down in unison before plunging in. And it looks as though Thor will win easily, powering though the water with his arms and pulling ahead. Halfway across the lake he begins to flag slightly. Loki’s pace has been even throughout and doesn’t falter. He cuts like a knife through the wake churning behind Thor and his lead builds stroke by stroke, only increasing after the turn. Thor finds his brother already standing on the shore when he pushes him self up to run the last shallow stretch of the race. 

Thor is gasping and grinning at him and Loki isn’t sure his addled brain can come up with a worthwhile prize. He has too many options. He needs to think about it so he doesn’t risk wasting what is, in essence, an opportunity to make a wish come true. The god of thunder as a falling star, Loki thinks. It rather suits him. Glowing and golden and otherworldly. Frequently seen streaking through the skies. Loki laughs at himself, feeling silly, and hands Thor a towel.  

“I’m in trouble, am I not?” Thor pants.  

“You are,” Loki affirms.

“How much?”  

“I can’t decide.”  

“Perhaps I’ll be safe if I keep you distracted,” Thor says, reaching for Loki’s waist.  

“Couldn’t hurt,” Loki admits, smiling. 

Loki can feel Thor’s chest heaving against him as Thor hoists him up with one hand under his ass and the other around his back.  He wraps his legs around Thor’s waist, and his arms around Thor’s neck and bends to kiss his brother, finding Thor’s lips still cold from the lake. A deep gurgling growl issues from Thor’s belly and it quivers against Loki’s skin. Both their eyes go wide before Loki starts laughing and Thor swears, setting him back down on his feet.  

“Sorry,” Thor sighs.

“Don’t be. You haven’t been eating enough. What would you like for supper?”

“Something simple.”  

Loki thinks for a moment before his lips split into a grin.  

“Do you remember our old friend Snorre?”  

Thor’s face drops instantly.  

“I’m being facetious, Thor. But you remember where he lives, yes?”  

“Aye. Due south. Not terribly far.”  

“I want eggs for supper. We’ll take his.”  

“Loki.”  

“Don’t worry, he won’t recognize us.”  

“In what way will this be simple?”

“No hunting. No feathers to pluck or gutting to be done. Eggs cook in mere minutes.  Simple.” 

Thor sighs. They dry off and dress and then Loki casts a glamour on each of them. Thor’s eyes go wide.   

Loki is disguised as a draugr.  

“That is repulsive,” Thor says, shaking his head. “What have you done with me?”  

Thor’s hands are wrinkled and small.  

“You’re a nisse,” Loki smirks.  

Thor rolls his eyes.

“Your task is to keep any servants he might have distracted,” Loki explains. “We don’t want them seeing me. I’ll deal with Snorre. Don’t speak unless we’re out of his earshot.” 

Loki casts a glamour on Mjolnir so she looks like a broom and Thor takes them up. 

By sunset they are back at their beach. Loki is lying on his side, laughing so hard he’s in tears, with a sack of eggs sitting on the sand in front of him. He kept himself together all the way home, not wanting to crush their fragile supper, but as soon as the eggs were safe he went to pieces. Thor stands, smiling, holding a bowl of steaming porridge with a melting pat of butter on its crown.  

“He pissed right there in his breeches,” Loki boggles, gasping and drying his eyes. “We should have done this years ago.”  

“I think I agree,” Thor admits, shaking his head and looking at his brother. “But if you don’t remove that glamour soon you’ll be sleeping out here tonight.”  

Loki sits up and restores their appearances. Thor takes the spoon he stole from Snorre out of his pocket and starts on his porridge. 

“Ooooo, give us some of that, love,” Loki purrs. 

Thor sits down beside his brother and scoops up the bulk of the butter, sliding it between Loki’s lips. Loki hums, still quaking with aftershocks of laughter. Thor tries to keep his grin reined in; Loki hasn’t called him love since they were very young men, and it makes the blood rush to his cheeks and dance in his veins. 

“Boiled, poached, or fried?” Loki asks, once he’s settled down and their oats have all been eaten.  

“Fried,” is Thor’s immediate answer. He brought more butter than he did bread to spread it on and is glad of the opportunity to get it into his brother’s belly.

Loki nods and summons dead wood to the beach.  

“You make the fire. I’ll cook,” Loki says, walking off to fetch the necessities. 

After they’ve dined and washed, Loki stands on the beach, looking at the sky over the water. Thor comes to stand behind him, circling his arms around Loki’s middle and hooking his chin over his shoulder, staring at the stars as they shimmer on the surface of the lake.  Surely you’ve seen enough of the stars, brother, Thor thinks. 

The silence of the woods is near perfect. Those that would sing - the frogs, toads, and crickets - still sleep, waiting for spring’s fingers to reach through the earth and wake them. There is no wind. There is only the rustle of clothes from the rising of breasts and the rush of cool air into warm lungs.  

Thor kisses Loki’s neck and gives him a squeeze.

“Have you decided on your prize?”  

“I think so.”  

“What will you have?”  

Loki turns and puts his arms around Thor’s neck.  

“You’ll find out soon enough.”  

Loki brushes Thor’s hair back from his face and places a kiss at the corner of his mouth.  

“Come on,” Loki says, taking Thor’s arm. “We’ve neglected dessert.” 

Once they’ve sealed themselves in the tent Loki starts another of his strange pine needle fires and Thor brings out a parchment-wrapped log of marchpane. He takes the knife from his belt and Loki cleans it for him.   

“How much?” Thor asks.

“I’ll have at least an eighth of it,” Loki answers.  

Thor slices off nearly a fifth and hands it to Loki, who grins.

“You know me too well, brother,” Loki says, pinching off a piece and closing his eyes as it hits his tongue.

“Aye. If more than half of this makes it through the night I’m taking you straight to Halldis in the morning,” Thor threatens.  

Loki smiles.  

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that.” 

Once he’s licked his fingers clean, Loki recalls all of his glowing orbs, leaving only the flickering fire to light their little room. He starts stripping off his clothes. Thor sits, watching and smiling, legs stretched out in front of him, toes wiggling happily. Loki’s skin looks like honey twisting through the air. Delicious, Thor thinks. Loki bends and strips off Thor’s stockings. Thor pulls his shirt over his head and then unbuckles his belt, standing to remove his leggings. Loki is circling the tent, collecting all their cast offs and straightening the blankets.  

Thor sits down in the middle of the bed and waits for Loki to join him. When he does, it’s by dropping into Thor’s lap and hooking his legs around Thor’s middle. Thor grins, running his hands over Loki’s thighs.  

“Are you ready to give me my prize?”  

There’s a sharp intake of breath before Thor’s answer.  

“Aye.”  

“Good. I want to hear you.”  

“Hear me?” Thor asks, brow crumpling.

“Yes. And I don’t mean moaning for the sake of noise, though by all means moan when you’re so inclined. And you don’t have to be loud; you can whisper.”  

Loki is demonstrating, now, breathing his words softly into the curve of Thor’s ear.  

“Merely tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re wanting. And you don’t have to tell me everything - everyone deserves their secrets - and we don’t have to do the things you say if you’d rather not. But, give me all you can bear to part with, brother. I would know your mind.” 

Thor is rigid in his arms. Damn, Loki thinks, Perhaps another demonstration is in order. 

“Please, love,” Loki sighs, voice silky, nuzzling Thor’s right cheekbone. “Your voice. The depth of it. I can feel the sound.” Loki sucks an earlobe into his mouth and nips it before setting it free. “Thor, I want it. I won’t hold your words against you. I won’t mock you.”  

“Do you promise that?” Thor asks, sliding his hands up to Loki’s shoulders and leaning back to look him in the eye.  

“I do,” Loki whispers. “And I beg you to remember that laughter and mockery are not one and the same. Your words will bring me joy, brother. Let me wallow in it.”

Thor softens a bit, letting out a shaky breath. Loki rubs his shoulders.  

“This is not my realm,” Thor says.

“I know. I’ll help you along.” 

Loki runs his fingers through blond hair while he considers how best to lure his brother’s thoughts out of his stubborn mind and into his pretty mouth. He opts to bait Thor’s words with his own; language is a cannibal.

“Warm enough?” Loki asks.  

“Mmmm,” Thor answers, lips against Loki’s shoulder.

That wasn’t even a word, Thor, Loki thinks, wanting to pinch his brother’s behind. Though there’s something to be said for the way it felt on my skin.    

Thor runs his hands down Loki’s arms, pausing at the elbows and worrying them a moment.  

“Has your skin improved at all?” Thor asks, face dubious. Loki huffs.

“I suspect I know how rusty hinges feel.”  

“Loki,” Thor groans, nudging his brother’s backside until he climbs out of Thor’s lap and flops down onto the bed.  

Thor puts the oil by the fire to warm and shakes his head.  

“You should be drinking more water,” Thor chides.  

“Later,” Loki answers. “I don’t want a full belly just now.”  

“No?”  

“No.”  

“Have plans, do you?” Thor asks, blithely.

“Mmmm,” Loki answers.  

“And do your plans require that you have skin like a bilgesnipe’s?”  

Loki shoves Thor with his foot but Thor grabs him by the ankle, bringing it up to his mouth and biting it. The ankle recoils and its owner narrows his eyes.  

“You’re supposed to be talking,” Loki says.  

“Am I?” Thor asks, kneeling at Loki’s feet and bending low to kiss his shins.  

“Aye. And don’t think you can distract me with those lips of yours.”

“You know I never think, brother.”  

Loki snorts and Thor tips his head to kiss the sides of Loki’s calves where they flare out, pressed between bones and the bed. He keeps kissing his way up Loki’s long legs, listening to Loki’s shortening breaths, until he reaches the fleshy interior of the thigh.  

“That should do it,” Thor says, sitting up and turning toward the fire.  

“I might murder you,” Loki confesses.  

“And spare me the strain of delivering your prize? Aye, brother. You are a merciful god.”

Loki kicks him. Thor laughs.  

“Turn onto your belly,” Thor says.  

Loki raises an eyebrow at him and Thor rolls his eyes.  

“Obviously not all the way onto your belly, unless you wish to put a pillow under your hips.”  

Loki smirks and grabs the pillow Thor has been using, stuffing it under himself and rocking his pelvis, waving his ass in Thor’s face.  

“Careful,” Thor rumbles. “That looks like an invitation.”  

Loki stills, feeling his pulse quicken. That’s it, brother, he thinks. Let’s have more of that.  

“Was it an invitation?” Thor asks, and Loki opens his mouth and speaks nothing but breath after breath.  

Loki hears the wet squeak of a cork popping out of a bottle and feels warm liquid spill onto the small of his back.  

I may have underestimated the potency of Thor’s silences, Loki admits to himself.  

After another squeak from the cork, Thor’s hands slide up Loki’s back, and his thighs hug Loki’s sides. A firm gliding press to the ribs and shoulder blades pushes a moan from Loki’s throat.  

“All right?” Thor asks, kneading the neck with precision Loki finds almost surgical, and that should probably be frightening, but instead it’s reassuring.  

Loki nods, hair scuffing the pillow.  

Thor’s hands move down the arms until they grip thin wrists, pulling them up and crossing them over the small of the back. Loki’s hum has a hint of whimper in it.  

“Still all right?”  

Another nod.  

“Swear you’ll tell me if you’re not,” Thor says, squeezing the hands held in his own.  

“I will.”  

“Good,” Thor says at the top of a long exhale. 

“Speak, brother,” Loki whispers.  

Thor rubs oil into two thirsty elbows.  

“And what shall I tell you?” Thor asks.

Loki catches the rhetorical curve of Thor’s question in time to keep his own tongue still. Thor drags his fingertips lightly over Loki’s skin, never taking the same path twice, roaming, but not aimless; he neglects nothing.  

“That there’s something impossible to your prize? That much of what I would do to you would prevent my speech?”

Loki hums. Thor slides down the bed and soon Loki smells almonds and warm hands are gliding up his legs.  

“Ridiculous legs,” Thor laughs, as he circles Loki’s left knee with both hands, pushing the ring made by his fingers toward the thigh.  

“These bloody stilts of yours are what caught me,” Thor says, hands moving to circle Loki’s right leg. 

“You came to my room to fetch me for dinner. Ages ago.” 

Thor scoots up and grips the backs of Loki’s thighs for a moment before he skims his palms over the curved mounds that perch at their tops.   

“I was on my belly on the rug, reading about farming,” Thor huffs a laugh. “Father wanted me to be useful with my storms. To know when and where I should take the rain for the sake of the crops.”  

Thor’s thumbs slide closer to the cleft of Loki’s ass with each pass they make over his cheeks.  

“You called my name and I looked up and saw you in the doorway. You were nearly as tall as you are now. Wearing dark leather leggings. Almost the color of wine. And I wanted every inch of those legs wrapped around me.”  

Loki swears and Thor bends to drop a kiss on his tailbone before nudging Loki’s legs apart so he can kneel between them.

“Didn’t eat a bite of dinner. Didn’t hear a word said to me.” 

Thor grips Loki’s waist and drags his hands down the hips and the outsides of the thighs before pushing them back up the insides and spreading Loki wider for his eyes. He bends to capture a smooth hillock of flesh between his hands, pressing kisses to it. He repeats the action on its neighbor and then kisses the creases where the thighs begin, the dimples in the lower back, and the bones at the base of the spine. Loki feels Thor’s hair spill over his hip and a cheekbone press into his skin as Thor rests his head on the right half of Loki’s rump. Warm breath ghosts over the back of Loki’s left leg. 

“Loki?”  

“Hmmm?”  

“May I stop speaking for a moment?”  

“Yes.” 

Thor straightens his head and palms both hemispheres of Loki’s backside, squeezing them lightly, kissing the top of the little channel between them. Loki arches his back and Thor moans into the meat of Loki’s ass and takes a slow breath. His lips have gone tight with a grin, so he nuzzles the smooth skin beneath him until his mouth relaxes. The trail of kisses is picked up where it paused, at the tip of the tailbone, and now it inches south, slowly, until Loki is shaking. Thor rushes a warm breath between Loki’s legs in warning before pressing his lips to a twitching ring of crinkled skin.  

Loki makes a sound that calls an echo from Thor’s throat.  

Thor’s kisses spread and soften, lips opening and nipping. At the first touch of tongue, Loki chokes out a curse that ends with his brother’s name. Thor’s groan sends ripples of sound through rivers of milky skin.  

Thor drags and swirls his tongue over the tense button of flesh before him, alternately prodding and soothing it, rubbing and stroking it until it relaxes just enough that he notices. He wiggles the tip of his tongue against it and it gives up the tiniest bit of ground.   

Loki jerks forward with a shout.  

“All right?” Thor asks.

“Quite,” Loki answers, and laughs softly. “You surprised me there.”  

“May I go on?”  

“Aye," Loki whispers.  

“And may I have more light?”

“Only if you tell me why you want it.”  

Thor groans and bites Loki’s ass gently, calming the skin he nipped with kisses.  

“I can hear, feel, smell, and taste you,” Thor laughs. “I would see you like this, brother.”  

“Greedy,” Loki scolds, but even as he says it he is casting lights about the tent. He crosses his hands over the base of his spine again without being asked. 

Loki’s backside is blushing and Thor succumbs to the urge to press his face and hands into soft rosy skin. Then the fullness of the inner thighs beckons again. Thor nibbles and kisses them, following them up until he can see the skin between Loki’s legs, still slick and shining from the attentions of his lips and tongue. Thor wants to see more. He spreads Loki’s legs as far apart as they’ll stretch and gets down on his belly between them.   

The warm tones of the fire and the lights make Loki’s skin look like mead; like it’s meant to be drunk. Thor’s field of vision is filled with golden glowing flesh and he smiles. Heavy arms wrap around Loki’s pelvis, pulling it closer as Thor buries his face between two apple cheeks.  

A long swipe of Thor’s tongue causes a strange sound to stick in Loki’s throat and his hips to push briefly into the pillow below him. Thor repeats the action and hears Loki hum. In the middle of the next pass, Thor’s tongue presses slowly into the tiny opening in its path and Loki moans so loudly Thor can feel the vibrations against his face. Thor stiffens his tongue and darts it in again, surprised by the strong resistance of the small circle of muscle. He wants to feel that pressure around a finger. Or his cock. His tongue presses forward again and Loki jerks. Thor loves it. He’s seeing something entirely new. It’s like watching a foal take its first faltering steps.  

Thor finds a slow rhythm, fucking Loki with a firm tongue. His hands are lightly gripping the muscles that currently surround his face, feeling them flex as Loki moves his hips gently against the pillow beneath him. Sharp breaths give way to soft moans. Thor hums his joy into hot skin, jaw gaping to grip as much flesh as it can hold. Soon, Loki’s cries sound almost like sobs, and suddenly he’s begging Thor to stop. Thor obeys instantly, stunned.  

“Loki, I’m sorry-“  

“Shhhh. Thor, don’t be stupid. And don’t you dare be sorry.”  

“What’s wrong?”  

“Nothing. Merely I’m not ready to spill yet and I was getting close.”  

“Oh,” Thor groans, relieved.  

Loki turns his head to let one eye look over his shoulder at Thor.  

“I won’t spend until I’ve had my fill of your words, brother, and I’m afraid you’ve a long way to go.”  

Thor swears on a sigh. 

Loki turns onto his side, pulling the pillow that was under his hips up by his head, facing its dry side up and patting it until it cradles Thor’s skull.  

Thor tugs Loki close and kisses the skin behind his ear, breathing in the mingled scents of smoke and lake, of hair and skin. And marchpane. His fingers tangle in black curls. 

“Loki?” Thor whispers.  

“Hmm?”  

“Help,” Thor laughs.  

Loki rubs Thor’s hip.  

“Who are you?” Loki asks.  

“Thor,” comes the answer, after a beat.  

One word, Loki thinks.  

“And what are you?”

“Your brother.”

Two words. Technically an improvement, Loki supposes.  And not, “A god,” or, “A warrior.” Thor grows modest. Or he holds me in dangerously high esteem.  

“What do you want?”  

Thor kisses Loki’s neck.  

“Thor,” Loki admonishes.  

“To kiss you.”  

Three words. Progress.

“Mmmm, I noticed. Where?”

Thor’s arms tighten around Loki.

“Everywhere," Thor whispers. “I would bend you over and kiss each bone in your spine; suck bruises over them. I want to lick sweat from the small of your back. Kiss your thighs where they’re soft between your legs. Kiss your belly. And breast. And your face. Brother, your face...”

Loki can’t see Thor’s face; it’s still hidden over his shoulder in the mess of his hair. But he can hear Thor’s breath, fast behind his ear, and feel it against his chest where their ribs kiss. Whole sentences, Loki marvels. Thor does so hate to fail.  

Thor pulls back to place his lips at Loki’s temple while his fingers trace Loki’s waist.  

“I want it to be the last thing I see,” Thor says.  

Loki’s grip tightens and his breath catches.  

“I kissed the bronze bust of you in Mother’s hall,” Thor confesses, after a moment. 

Loki leans back and looks Thor in the eye, slowly elevating his brows, until both brothers are shaking with laughter, glad to have respite.  

“I kissed the bust of you as well,” Loki admits. 

Now it’s Thor’s turn to look surprised.  

“What? When?" 

“I think the bronze was still warm.”  

They’re laughing again. 

Loki licks into Thor’s lips and kisses him, tasting his own skin on his brother’s tongue. A sad sound escapes Thor’s throat when they stop and Loki’s resolve nearly crumbles, but he holds fast to his purpose; he will have his prize.  

“Shhhh,” Loki soothes, stroking Thor’s hair. “You’re doing so well. Don’t stop.”  

Thor’s hand slides down to cup Loki’s ass and Loki is about to pull it away when Thor’s lips return to his ear.  

“I still want your legs around me,” Thor says, not quite a whisper. “Want to sink into your skin. Moan into your pink mouth. Spill into you. See you touch yourself.”  

Thor goes quiet, lightly pressing his lips to Loki’s temple.  

“More," Loki coaxes. Or begs.  

Thor hesitates, but only for a heartbeat. Loki holds his breath.  

“I would hunt you in these woods. Chase you. Without magic or Mjolnir. Until our clothes were torn and filthy. Our skin smeared with sweat and dirt. Bloodied. And if I caught you, I would bring us both down on our hands and knees and I would have you like that until you were screaming.”  

The wind has picked up, and walls of the tent have begun to sway.  

“And what if I caught you?”  

Thor buries his face in Loki’s neck, breathing softly. Loki waits him out.  

“You would press me down on my back, with your hand on my throat. And you’d cut away my clothes, carelessly. Cover my mouth with your fingers. And then you’d take me,  brother, and you’d spend on my chest, where I would see you.” 

Loki hears the patter of rain on the fabric of their roof.  

“Would there be a storm?” Loki whispers, knowing the answer but wanting to hear the word.  

“Yes,” Thor whispers. 

Loki kisses Thor’s neck and gently extricates himself from warm arms to cast a simple ward against the damp on their dwelling. Thor’s eyes take in the movements of muscle and bone beneath smooth skin as Loki twists to reach for the oil and then slides the bottle beneath his pillow. He lies back down, threading his fingers through Thor’s hair and dragging the instep of his foot up the side of Thor’s leg.

“And what would you like tonight?” Loki asks.  

Thor shakes his head faintly.  

“Please,” Loki says, and Thor hugs him close.  

Thor is kissing all the corners: where the ear meets the jaw, the edges of the eyes, the sides of the mouth, the dip under the nose. He sucks a mark onto Loki’s neck while his hands smooth soft curls and stroke warm ribs. When he parts Loki’s lips with his own, Loki moans and pulls Thor’s face close with both of his hands buried in blond waves. Thor hums and his hand slides down to pull Loki’s leg up over his hip, fingers lingering at the back of the thigh. Close enough to be a tease.  

“I want you,” Thor whispers, rolling them and laying Loki on his back, “like this.”  

Loki hears the tiny question mark at the end of the sentence and nods, sliding his legs apart.  

“Go on,” Loki coaxes.  

Thor moves to kneel between long legs, bending to kiss his hips.   

“Here,” Loki says, pulling the bottle from beneath his pillow and handing it to Thor, hearing rain drum their roof. 

Loki watches Thor pour oil into his hand, but is still taken by surprise when Thor’s fingers close around his erection. He moans and Thor smiles, stroking him firmly and then trailing fingers lower to swirl lightly over sensitive skin.  

Thor pours more oil into his hand and paints it onto his own cock with one twisting stroke. Loki will remember the way this looked - the way Thor’s eyes closed and his head fell - for the rest of his life. 

Thor wipes the excess oil off on both of their bellies and climbs forward over Loki.   

Their faces are shrouded in Thor’s hair again and Loki presses forward for a kiss, sliding his legs up as he does; his left one low around Thor’s thighs and his right around Thor’s waist. Thor’s forehead drops to rest on Loki’s and Loki looks up into blue eyes and smiles, squeezing Thor with his legs and bumping their noses together.  

Thor goes up on his knees and one elbow, bracing his cock with his hand, and lowers his hips. Loki kisses him noisily when he starts to press in, thinking wonderful and yes and  more, and wrapping both of his legs high around Thor’s hips to pull him in close. 

“Loki.”  

“Mmmm.”  

“All right?”

“Mmmm,” Loki answers.  

Thor breaths a laugh over Loki’s lips and follows it with kisses.  

Loki curls his hips up off the bed playfully, lifting Thor with him, three times in quick succession.  

“Eager,” Thor rumbles.  

“Mmmm,” Loki agrees.  

“Is that your new favorite word?”  

“Mmmm,” Loki says, smiling, and Thor slumps over him with a laugh. 

Thor nips Loki’s ear and kisses his jaw before rising like a roof over him and thrusting his forearms under Loki’s shoulder blades. Loki’s grin stretches wide as their breasts press together and Thor’s kisses push his head back into the pillow, baring his neck. Thor’s hips begin to move as his mouth meets Loki’s throat, and he can feel Loki humming against his lips. It tickles, so Thor pulls his lips back and presses his teeth down in their stead.  

Loki gasps and clenches around Thor, who swears and works his hips harder.  

“Tell me,” Loki whispers.  

“Loki, ” Thor murmurs, slowing his motions only slightly. 

Loki winds his arms around Thor’s neck and offers the blushing curve of his ear to Thor’s lips. Thor kisses it and Loki hears lips parting and air rushing in through them. Thor is going to turn that air into words for me. It’s rather like magic, Loki thinks.

“Do you know what you look like?” Thor asks. “And what it does to me? You’re flushed and sweating and your lips are parted.”  

“How did you know my mouth was open?” Loki interrupts, sounding pouty.  

“I can hear you breathing through it.”  

“Ah,” Loki says, and giggles, and Thor kisses him on the cheek.

“You’re flat on your back and panting… and you’ve never looked more like a god. No one  has ever looked more like a god.” 

Loki moans and sucks Thor’s earlobe between his teeth, inadvertently tugging it as Thor rocks into him.  

“And I want you even though I’ve got you. I’ve wanted you so long. Watched you grow more beautiful than I could dream. And now... the way you feel against me... the way you fit…”   

Thor groans.  

"Keep going, ” Loki whispers.  

“You’re so smooth. Tight. And it feels like I’m trapped in you,” Thor flexes his arms under Loki’s back and lets all of his weight rest on his brother’s thin chest. “But that’s what I  want,” Thor growls, and Loki makes a strangled sound. “And it means you’re trapped, too.” 

Loki swears and Thor shakes his head.  

“I won’t last much longer,” Thor says.  

“You won’t have to.”  

Loki nudges Thor up and reaches between them, sliding his fingers over his cock. Thor rises all the way up on his arms, back arched, and hangs his head to see Loki’s hand twisting beneath him, knuckles white. And it feels like Loki is getting tighter, and Thor gasps.  

“Loki, please,” Thor pants, “I can’t anymore. I’m so close.”  

Thor’s begging has Loki spending in streaks up to their chests and the sight spurs Thor’s hips on until he spills with a groan. He lowers himself back down onto his elbows and showers Loki’s red cheeks with kisses. Loki feels Thor’s lips press lightly on his eyelids and down his nose, lingering at his lips and then veering off to his ear.  

“Still all right?” Thor asks.

“Mmmm,” Loki nods, smiling softly at the ceiling.  

“Brother,” Thor murmurs, and Loki holds his breath to hear better, hoping for more. Thor hums. “So lovely. And clever. You took me in so well.”  

“I’ve always used my fingers,” Loki murmurs. “I pretended they were yours.”  

“Would you let me see you like that?” Thor asks, after a curse, voice low and rough.  

“If you wish.”

Thor nods. 

Thor cleans them up and Loki likes that, lying there, limp and giddy, while a god waits on him. Thor fetches water for them, returning wet with rain, smelling like spring and making Loki want him again. Loki grabs the marchpane, promising himself he’ll save a third for tomorrow. He slices off slivers of the sticky sweet, letting them melt on his tongue, and watches water droplets stutter down Thor’s chest, some catching in the crease of his belly where he’s bent, others dropping onto his thighs. One lucky raindrop falls and shatters on Thor’s cock, and Loki envies its demise. He wonders what surprises Thor still holds for him. He managed to conceal his appreciation of the male form for centuries, and it isn’t as if Loki wasn’t looking for it. Almost anything could be hiding in that pretty head, Loki muses.  

Thor’s love has facets that are almost feral. With talons and teeth. And Thor’s honesty is frightening. Because Loki wants it - wants Thor’s secrets, Thor’s warmth, Thor’s devotion - more than anything. It makes him feel vast. And powerful. And weak. And desperate. And it terrifies Loki that he needs something that he cannot provide himself. Because that means it could be taken away. So he’ll not let himself have it, and then there’s nothing to lose. It’s another reason to leave.

Loki hears his brother laughing and is roused from his thoughts.  

“What’s so funny?” Loki asks.

“You’ve eaten it all.”  

Loki looks at the bare paper beside him.  

“Damn.”


	7. Day Five

 

They sleep soundly, waking just before dawn. Loki chooses pastries and dried fruit for their breakfast. Thor looks indecently happy. It hurts Loki to see it, but he hides it well.

Loki does not conceal his disappointment when Thor starts dressing, groaning audibly and using magic to thwart Thor's efforts. Thors belt slithers away to hide in the sheets while his stockings run around the tent as though filled with feet. When he finally wrestles his tunic on, it keeps riding up, leaving his belly exposed, and then his leggings begin to cling to him in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Loki watches, smirking.   

Thor tries not to smile but soon gives up and throws himself onto his brother, squeezing him so tightly he can hear Loki’s breath leave his body with a wheeze. Thor gnaws on a pale shoulder and then licks the dents left by his teeth.  

“What shall we do today?” Thor asks.  

“Fly,” Loki whispers with the little air he can fit in his lungs.  

Thor relaxes his grip on Loki and kisses him thoroughly before tickling his ribs, smacking his thighs and dragging him up onto his feet.  

Loki looks longingly at the sheets.  

“Though we could spend all day in here,” Loki murmurs. “There are ever so many things I still need to do to you.”  

Thor pulls Loki into a hug, running his hands over bare skin and sighing into a slender neck.  

“We’re going to get bedsores at this rate,” Thor chuckles, but Loki can tell he’s considering it.  

“We won’t be holding still,” Loki whispers.  

“You’re impossible,” Thor laughs. “Get dressed. We shall aim to get back by midday.”  

Loki smiles and dresses using magic, not wanting to waste any time. Thor rolls his eyes. 

Thor takes them up over the whole of the forest, dark in the grey dawn, and in the absence of light the scent of the woods is made more remarkable. He sends them straight up until the air gets thin and then reverses their course, stopping them just in time to avoid impact and shooting them up again through the chill of scattered clouds. He perches them at the peak of a mountain. They sit there, legs swinging, hair wild, and they are the first things captured by the sun’s rays. It drifts down their cheeks, warming their skin, and tints them orange and rose.  

“We look like we’re burning,” Thor says, tucking a curl behind his brother’s ear. “Like we’re on our pyre.”  

Pyre, Loki thinks. Singular. He pictures his quilt. Yes, that sounds right. 

He takes Thor’s hand.  

In a sheer face of the mountain there’s a small cave, and that’s where Thor takes them next. He found it when he was learning to fly with Mjolnir, and once he adjusted to flying with Loki this was the first place he brought him.  

The sun won’t reach the cave until late afternoon, so Loki lights it for them.  

Nothing has changed. It’s as though they have slipped back in time. A forgotten basket sits on the cave floor, shrouded in dust and cobwebs. They had eaten supper in the cave and neglected to bring it home with them afterward. No one else has been here since, and now they’re certain no one bothered to come before, either. So it’s theirs, which is just as well, since that’s how they've always referred to it anyway.

“Remember those early flights we took?” Thor asks, smiling.  

Loki nods.  

“I thought I’d never get the grass out of my teeth.”  

Thor snorts. It had been a tricky thing to master, but, luckily, equally tricky to forget. 

They sit at the mouth of the cave and watch the sunlight slide down the peak opposite them.  

“After you brought me here I couldn’t keep this place from my mind,” Loki confesses. “I wanted to hide you away in here. Carve the walls smooth. Line them with weavings. Cover the floor with cushions and ward us from sight. “  

“I had similar thoughts,” Thor says. “I wish I had been brave enough to try.”  

Loki lays his chin on Thor’s shoulder.  

“Give us a kiss.”  

Thor obliges him. 

Layers of clouds form a floor and ceiling of billowing curves. The sun is between the strata, tinting the cottony peaks tangerine, pink, and lemon, while the shadows are creamy lilac. The sky looks like meringue and whipped cream and Loki laughs as he and Thor shoot through it all like an arrow. Wisps of cloud cling to them and trail behind them like threads as Thor zigzags up and down through the planes of cloud, stitching the heavens into a quilt for the realm.  

They’re nearing their destination. At the edge of the sea - very near the edge of Asgard itself - there’s a lava flow that tumbles into the waves, writhing, hissing and glowing. It moves like a living thing, and that makes sense to Thor, who has always experienced the weather as a responsive creature, capable of being called and guided like a horse. He sees no reason why the stones, earth, plants, and water should be any different.  

Their heels hit the hard surface of curved rock and they walk toward the steam issuing from the ocean before them. Thor is standing as close as one can get without risking injury, reaching his fingers behind him, flexing them to ask for Loki’s hand. When it isn’t forthcoming he turns his head to look for his brother. 

Loki is a dozen paces behind him, standing tall, eyes wide, lips parted, face as pale as the dead.   

“Loki?”  

Thor gets no answer and spins around, taking a step toward his brother, who holds out a hand to halt him, bends, and vomits. Thor is at his side in three huge strides and gripping Loki’s elbow.

“What’s wrong?” Thor asks, fearing poison, illness, or exhaustion.  

Loki spits and looks up into Thor’s face, eyes wide and frantic.  

“I need you to take me back to our beach.”  

Thor nods and gets Loki settled under his left arm, keeping an eye on his brother to be sure the lurch of leaving the ground doesn't disturb his stomach. Loki keeps his eyes fixed on their destination for the whole of their flight. Thor lands as carefully as he’s able, which is nowhere near as soft as he’d like under the circumstances. 

Loki tears off his clothes and walks straight into the lake, sitting down with just his head sticking out, bending to drink the sweet water. Thor follows him, not bothering to undress, dropping to his knees and bending toward his brother.  

“What’s happening?”  

“Would you bring rain for me? And can you make it cold?”

“Aye,” Thor says, calling Mjolnir and gathering a storm high over the mountains before bringing it down on their heads.   

Loki stands and takes Thor’s arm, leading them to the grass and then sitting them down, leaning on Thor’s shoulder and letting the rain beat his hair over his face. Thor waits. Loki lies down. Thor joins him. Loki spreads his arms and legs wide and drinks the rain that falls into his open mouth. Thor curls onto his side and watches. They stay like that until the sky begins to darken. 

Loki opens his eyes to blink at the rain before turning toward Thor.  

“Thank you,” Loki sighs.  

Thor kisses him and helps him up, fetching Loki’s clothes. He hangs them over the rope that holds their tent, peeling off his own and doing the same with them. 

They towel off carelessly and drop into bed. Loki crawls up on top of Thor and Thor’s hands come up to rub the chilled skin of his back. Loki hums.  

“That is exactly what I wanted,” Loki says.  

“You’re like a cat,” Thor teases.  

Loki purrs. 

“What did they do to you?” Thor asks, hands never wavering as they work on Loki’s spine.

“You’re wise not to let on that you’re clever,” Loki answers. “Modest, too. You’ll be underestimated. It’s an advantage.”   

“Loki?”  

Loki sighs.   

“I’ll show you in a moment, I promise. But this is lovely. Let’s just do this a bit longer.”  

Thor nods and presses kisses to Loki’s neck and shoulder. 

Loki falls asleep and Thor’s fingers continue to knead smooth skin while his mind turns in on itself, sifting and sorting the events of the last few years. Looking into lingering wounds. Shining light where none is welcome. 

Loki wakes and laughs.  

“Drooled on your shoulder.”  

“I know,” Thor says, and snorts, smacking Loki’s ass.    

Loki winds his arms around Thor’s neck.  

“Ready?” Loki asks.  

Thor nods.  

“Keep a tight hold on me and try to stay calm.”  

“I shall.” 

The tent was dark already, but now there is no hint of light or sound. Thor’s arms wrap around Loki’s ribs and waist and he takes a deep breath, willing himself to remain as relaxed as he’s able.  

The strange world from Loki’s last vision returns. It is all rock. Harsh and grey. There is no water, but there are Chitauri. They point weapons at his brother and many pay for it with their lives, but their numbers are vast, and Loki is tired and unarmed. Soon his brother is bound and being dragged over rough terrain, deep into the bowels of this realm.  

They want to know who Loki is. How he got here. How he found them. What he’s looking for. Who sent him. They receive only laughter for an answer.  

They ask more forcefully.  

Thor has seen blood spilled by every means imaginable, but seeing those means employed on his brother is different.  

Loki’s answer remains the same. For days, as far as Thor can gather. Maybe longer. 

Until they try heat.  

They hold blades in a furnace until the metal is glowing red. Loki calls ice to shield himself, but it melts as fast as he can form it.  Faster. The weapons pierce his skin.

Thor starts when he hears Loki screaming. He has never heard his brother make these sounds.  

Answers come, with enough truth in them to give them legs, and soon someone else is asking the questions and making the threats.  Making promises Thor knows better than to believe. Thanos. Some kind of god or giant, it would seem, who wants the Tesseract. 

Thor sees the world through Loki’s eyes. They linger on things Thor’s wouldn’t. On magic,  Thor realizes. The inquisitor has few weapons. Loki studies his armor instead. 

On Midgard, Coulson blasts Loki with something like lava and it fuels his madness. 

The rest Thor knows already. 

Loki banishes the vision with a haste Thor hasn’t seen before, streaks of darkness dissolving over their heads as glowing orbs of  gold replace them.

There’s thunder with the rain now, which Loki was expecting, but it’s not as near or as frequent as he thought it would be. Self control. Well done, brother, Loki thinks, smiling into Thor’s shoulder. He can feel the muscles of Thor’s jaw twitch against his head.

Thor remembers Loki’s horror when Odin banished him to Midgard. Being unable to understand how that had so quickly given way to rage and coldness and violence. At a loss as to why Loki wanted to kill him. That woman, Thor hears it again, and remembers Loki screaming in the Bifrost. Weeping. Oh. It changed when I met Jane. Loki suspected nothing of my feelings all those years. Thought his love was unreturned. That thought nearly broke Thor, so it’s no wonder it destroyed Loki; he was closer to sadness from the start. The push of unrequited love sent Thor to the precipice, but it put Loki over the edge. And then he let go of the spear to escape centuries of frustration and grief, only to find more of it waiting for him. Thor remembers the prize Loki chose after their horse race, before Odin spoke his sentence. When he thought he was going to die, his last request was a kiss. I’m a fool, Thor thinks, cringing.  

“You told me. And I was too dull to hear it.”  

“Shhh,” Loki soothes.  

“Where is Thanos?”  

“I know not. But be ready for him. He wants the Tesseract.”  

“Are there any Chitauri left?”  

“No. They’re all dead. Thank that friend of yours with the lovely eyes. Stark. He’s a clever thing.”

Thor turns his head.  

“You think Stark has lovely eyes?”  

Loki looks at Thor and smirks, glad to have him distracted, curious about Thor’s capacity for jealousy here.  

“Oh I know he does,” Loki croons.  

“Hmm. I prefer Captain Rogers myself. Though not for his eyes.”  

Loki drops his jaw and narrows his eyes in mock betrayal, pleased Thor has seen through his game and is playing along. They grin. 

Loki stares at Thor, toying with his damp blond hair while Thor’s mind wanders. He likes the way Thor tends toward a double chin no matter how fit he is. Adores his crooked smile. That his torso is a tad too long. All the things that remind him his brother is made of flesh and bone and shaped by chance. Order, warped by chaos, or perhaps the other way around. 

Thor’s brow is as rumpled as their sheets.  

“What are you thinking?” Loki asks.  

“Are the scars on your other skin?”

“Yes,” Loki answers, surprised by the question.  

“Are you still injured?”  

“No.”  

Thor’s relief is audible and tangible as he sighs and goes limp under Loki.  

“There’s another roll of marchpane in my bag.”  

“I knew I could smell some. Thought I was dreaming it. Thor, you trickster.” 

Loki clambers over his brother with more force and haste than are necessary and roots through his things until he finds his treasure, peeling back the paper and biting into the sweet as though it’s an apple. He sits cross-legged, knees bobbing up and down, looking every inch the little brother. Thor laughs. Loki smacks him. Thor hears a satisfied sigh and then the crinkling of paper. He looks in time to see Loki wrapping up the remainder of the marchpane, one cheek still bulging with the parting bite he gave to it.  

“That is all I brought with me, brother, so you’d best make it last,” Thor warns.  

“It may see the morrow. If I’m properly employed this night.”  

“Employed? Of an industrious inclination this evening?”  

“Aye,” Loki answers, leaning over to drop kisses at the corners of Thor’s mouth.  

Loki sits up and casts more lights, of every color, about the tent. It’s like seeing stars filtered through the Bifrost. 

“There is something I would do. It could be… upsetting,” Loki says. “If you dislike it, tell me, and I shall stop. But, if you approve, I would like to see your reaction. So I wish to surprise you. May I?”  

Thor nods.  

“Thank you. Close your eyes a moment.”  

Thor obeys and Loki sets to work, swiftly and silently. Thor hears a deep breath and some shifting in the sheets.  

“Keep your eyes closed and stand up for me.”  

Thor does. He hears Loki walking around him and then stilling before him.  

“You may look.”

Thor opens his eyes.  

"Loki." 

Loki looks like himself, but not as he is now; he looks exactly the way Thor remembers him from that day centuries ago, when he called Thor to dinner. He’s wearing the wine-colored leggings and the fawn tunic. His hair is short, and he’s wearing it in the curls that came when his voice changed. They frame his face, hide the tips of his ears, and have touches of auburn where the sun has bleached them. Freckles dust Loki’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. All of his skin has a hint of honey to it that has been absent for ages. He has the soft flesh of a boy stretched over the sharp bones of a man. Skin smooth and plump despite the leanness of youth.  

Thor looks down at himself, boggling at his own taut skin. He can feel where his hair hangs over his ears and see where it nearly obscures his eyes, brushed forward instead of trained back. His shoulders and ribs are still broad, but his arms are smaller, chest flatter. He’s wearing the pale white robes of the infirmary. He looks up at Loki.  

“I am as I was when the snake bit me, yes?” Thor asks.  

“Aye,” Loki answers. He sits down on the bed and Thor drops to join him. 

“Why this?” Thor asks, smiling softly, and Loki takes a deep breath.   

“It was the first time your health had ever faltered. Until then I hadn’t known it was possible.” Loki knits his brow. “And, rather than diminish you in my eyes, it gave your form a value I never imagined. Made your body precious to me. Rare. Fragile.”  

“I remember seeing you by the bedside. It was all so vague, even as it was happening…” Thor trails off.  

“I refused to leave you. Couldn’t trust the realm to keep you safe. Blamed myself for bringing you to that bloody swamp.”  

“Nonsense,” Thor scoffs. “But where did you find anything to please your eye while I was ill, brother? I was aghast at my reflection when I saw it.”  

Now Loki scoffs.  

“You were lovely still. Nature was too proud to mar the the beauty she made when she shaped you.”  

Loki scrubs a hand through his hair and his short ringlets tangle and stand up as though snagged by unseen branches.  

“You didn’t move for nine days,” Loki murmurs. “I could barely hear your heartbeat. It was slow enough that I feared I was imagining it. Your breaths were so shallow and so rare as to be undetectable. Even Odin looked fearful.”  

Loki’s eyes sweep over Thor, settling on his knees, which are touching Loki’s as they face each other, hunched over and cross-legged.  

“On the tenth morning your eyes moved behind your lids for the first time. I nearly danced, I was so happy. But then I worried it might mean you were worsening and in pain. Halldis said we could only wait.”   

Loki scratches Thor’s calves.  

“The next morning I could see you breathing deeply and at a good pace. I spent the day gripping your arm and sobbing all over my smile.”  

Thor takes Loki’s hands.  

“The following morning you…” Loki laughs. “You were making an impressive tent.”  

Thor snorts and drops his head and Loki smiles.

“It was like seeing the crocuses push through the snow. Spring after a bitter winter,” Loki looks at Thor’s strange face; old and new all at once. “And I knew you would mend. You looked ragged. Wan. But when your eyes opened they were still that impossible blue. You spoke my name and told me to sleep. Ever my elder brother. And I wanted to crawl into bed with you. To kiss you and cling to you. Help you spill with my fingers and know you were whole.” 

Thor nods. He scoots back and smooths the bed, lying down and pulling a sheet over himself.   

Loki can see Thor’s cock where it presses up against the linens.  

He swears softly and Thor smiles at him, invitation in his eyes.  

“What happens to the glamour when we touch?” Thor whispers.  

“Our hands will believe what our eyes have told them,” Loki answers, coming closer on his hands and knees.  

Loki reaches up and casts a glamour on the tent. They’re in their own healing chamber. The two cots are pushed together.  

“Is this all right?” Loki asks.  

Thor nods.  

“Did you really have the beds pushed together?”

“I did,” Loki answers, coloring slightly. “I wanted to hold your hand in my sleep. Couldn’t do that from across the gap.”  

“Mmmm,” Thor agrees. 

Loki lies down beside Thor with his head propped up on his hand, looking at his brother’s unlined face, wrapping his arm around a tiny waist to squeeze it briefly. Thor smiles when Loki’s fingers trace his features and he hums when Loki ruffles his short blond hair. Loki watches the steady pulse drum in Thor’s throat while his fingers skim down the linen until they’re draped over Thor's erection. Thor’s eyes close and Loki turns his head to look at his own hand. He moves his fingers back and forth slowly, and Thor’s breathing quickens slightly. 

Thor opens his eyes when Loki’s hand stills and he finds his brother’s face only inches above his own. He sees the freckles that dapple round cheeks, reminding him of birds’ eggs. The large liquid eyes. Smooth lips. Pink ears. 

“Kiss me,” Thor says, and Loki does. 

And then Loki’s pulling back the sheet, parting Thor’s robe to grant cool comfort to hot skin.  

“Where’s the oil?” Loki whispers.  

“Hmmm? Oh. Under the pillow, I think.”  

Loki digs beneath the cushions until he finds it, warming a generous amount in his palm before swirling it over Thor’s cock and sliding his fist down to the base. He sucks the peak of a nipple he can see poking through the robe, wetting the fabric and chilling the skin. His other arm slips under Thor’s neck and Thor’s thighs part a little. Loki’s hand moves up, fingers gliding onetwothreefour over the frenulum, grip loose and strokes slow. Soft. Sweet. Thor is happy to tarry in these touches, suspended over the abyss, as eager to float as to fall.  

But, all too soon, Thor is descending, flushed and sweating, into the void of his release. The slim thread holding him aloft is beginning to fray. Loki stopped blinking almost as soon as they began; unwilling to miss a moment of this - the rapid breaths of shallow depth, blue eyes flashing as they struggle to steal glimpses of Loki’s face, lids falling when long fingers flex.  

"Please," Thor says, as his head rolls on the pillow.

“Show me how,” Loki answers.  

Thor’s hand comes up to cover his brother’s and his grip tightens. His strokes are faster and grow firmer the longer they go on. Then they begin to twist, a spiral on the upstroke, a swipe of the thumb, and a hasty descent. Thor’s hips are rising to meet their joined fists and when he stops breathing Loki knows it won’t be long. Thor spends on his chest and belly with a muffled cry and then sags, panting, against his brother.

Loki brushes the hair from Thor’s damp forehead with the back of his hand. Thor catches him by the wrist and kisses his palm, tasting almonds and his own skin. He pulls Loki’s face to his, kissing him clumsily through his grin. Loki laughs into Thor’s mouth and they part, giggling, feeling as young as they look. 

Loki rolls away to fetch a towel from his bag, wetting it with water from a canteen and cleaning the seed from Thor’s skin.  

“Thank you,” Thor says, sitting up, slipping his robe off of his shoulders, and reaching for Loki’s tunic.   

Loki lifts his arms and Thor slowly raises the shirt, eyes inching up a belly, a breast, and a throat as they are bared. The bones of the shoulders beckon Thor’s fingers with their firm curves and bronzed tops. We swam every afternoon that summer, he remembers.  

He pulls Loki onto his lap and wraps those impossible legs around his waist, just as he has always wished to do. He buries his face in Loki’s collarbones, pressing wet kisses to the taut skin he finds there. Soft hands slide down Loki’s back and under the waistline of his leggings, cupping warm curves of flesh. Full lips suck purple onto a pretty neck. Then Thor is tipping his own head back to beg for kisses and being generously rewarded.  

Thor parts his thighs and Loki’s behind drops to the bed between them. Thor lowers him onto his back and lifts Loki’s long legs straight up into the air. Loki makes a little noise of comprehension and unlaces his leggings. Thor strips them off before running his hands from the ankles to the inner thighs and back again, wrapping the beautiful bare limbs around his waist once more and pulling Loki back up into his lap. More kisses follow, hungry and restless. Loki likes this; he doesn’t know what’s coming.  

Thor’s kisses are full of teeth and he huffs at his own impatience. He lays Loki down again and grabs the oil, drizzling it on Loki’s cock and into his own palm. He rubs his hands together and works them down Loki’s shaft, one picking up where the other left off, until Loki moans. His right hand remains, gliding in slow strokes over slick skin. His left hand slips lower between Loki's legs, swirling oil onto a tiny opening and sliding a finger in slowly. Loki gasps and Thor looks up from where he’s just disappeared into his brother. 

“All right?” Thor asks, but Loki was nodding enthusiastically before the words had even left Thor’s lips. 

A shaky breath from his brother brings Thor back to himself; he’d gotten lost in the silky skin at his fingertips and the subtle motions of hidden muscles. His eyes seek their favorite face, finding parted lips and the arch of the upper teeth. They sweep down over damp ribs and hips that are rising in a captivating rhythm, like Loki’s body is borne by some unseen ocean.  

Thor loosens his right hand and leans forward, lips parted, but stops himself in time to ask Loki’s preference  

“My hand or my mouth?”  

“Your mouth,” Loki answers, and Thor bends almost in half. 

They’re passing an apple back and forth in bed, skin pink from where Thor scoured them clean, still wearing their glamour, though the tent has had its true shape restored to it.  

Thor crawls off to get something from his bag and Loki lets himself enjoy the tidy curves of slim thighs as they flex and swing. They’re dusted with fine hair that flashes gold in the firelight. Peach, Loki thinks, and wonders what his brother would make of such a moniker.  

Thor sets a paper-bound bundle on the bed and Loki turns to open it. A braided loaf of bread. Thor offers a pot of butter and Loki takes it. Thor cuts two slices for them, smirking, and Loki laughs when he sees why. There is a core of marchpane hidden in the heart of the loaf.


	8. Day Six

When they wake, their glamour is gone. Thor kisses the face he loves, glad to have it back, pale and strong. The evidence of all Loki has learned is etched into his features, legible to those who can read the history written in skin.

“What shall we do today?” Thor asks, voice gruff and thick, pulling Loki close.  

“We should probably hunt," Loki answers, laughing. “I don’t care to answer the questions that would arise if we came home empty handed after four days in the woods.”  

Thor merely shrugs, unconcerned, and Loki wonders where the line between bravery and stupidity lies, or if they’re synonymous.  

“And I wish to test you a bit,” Loki adds.  

Thor raises his eyebrows.  

“Purely practical and academic inquiry, I’m afraid. Sorry, brother. Magic. I need to gauge your grasp of it.”  

Thor frowns.  

“Fret not,” Loki soothes, caressing Thor’s neck. “Your efforts will be rewarded.” 

They dress and have a breakfast of bread, apples, and the last of the marchpane. Loki leads Thor outside and they sit facing each other in the grass at the edge of the beach.  

“Ready?” Loki asks.

“I know not,” Thor answers. “What am I meant to do?”

“I’m going to hold out my hands and you’re going to tell me which of them contains magic.” 

Thor nods and Loki presents him with two closed fists. Thor looks at him, doubtful, and cups each hand in his own, repeating the action several times.  

“Your right?” Thor answers.  

“Again,” Loki says.

“Was I correct?”

“You’ll get your results at the end. Try another,” Loki says.

“Your right,” Thor answers, this time with no uncertainty.

“Again.”  

Thor touches Loki’s hands over and over before shrugging.  

“Left.”  

“Again.”

They go on like this for over an hour before Loki declares it’s time for a break.

“Are we stopping to hunt?” Thor asks.

“No.”  

“Are you weary?”

“No,” Loki smiles.

“What are we breaking for, brother?”  

“Kissing,” Loki answers, leaning in close, and Thor feels warmth spread through his chest as a smile splits his face. 

Thor pulls Loki into his lap and wraps his arms around his waist, scratching his skin lightly through the fabric of a favored tunic,  worn thin after countless hunts. Thor’s hair is caught in long fingers and Loki uses the blond waves like reins, guiding Thor's mouth to his own. Lips meet soundlessly, parting to admit the flick and curl of tongues. 

This is still so new and so long-sought it ensnares them. Hours vanish and they are nowhere near sated. The sun is high overhead, warming Loki’s back as he lies atop Thor, mapping Thor’s face with pecks from his lips and lines drawn with the cool tip of his nose. Warm fingers rub Loki’s back beneath his shirt and Loki wonders if the motion is conscious or automatic. Either way, the sweetness of it makes some piece of his soul ache, wanting to feel worthy of this fate. 

Thor hums into the tangy pink hollow of Loki’s mouth and pulls back, smiling.  

“Did I pass your test?” Thor asks.  

“No, love,” Loki says, shaking his head. “But you failed so beautifully I can’t bear to be cross with you.”  

Thor looks sad, perplexed, and apologetic and it’s such a winsome combination Loki’s stomach does a cartwheel.  

“Was I never right?” Thor asks.  

“You were accurate every time I used positive magic, but when I used neutral or negative magic you were only right half the time,  which means you got it by chance.”

Thor nods and sighs.  

“Sorry, brother,” Thor says, and Loki wants very much to weep, but he can’t afford it. He’ll pay his debt of tears in four days.  

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. It’s what I expected, in fact. But no mage will throw positive magic at you; you’re completely blind to the danger. I’ll see you sorted, though.” 

Thor holds Loki tight to his chest and wraps his legs around his hips, rolling slightly from side to side as if to rock them to sleep. He nips Loki’s neck before flipping them over, peppering Loki’s face with kisses, and pulling him up to his feet. Then he leads Loki by the hand through the cool shade of the woods and into the hazy dimness of their tent. Thor starts taking off his clothes. Loki follows his lead and soon they’re sprawled naked on the sheets, pressing their lips to all the softest places. Thor’s tongue peeks out to taste the skin at the base of Loki’s throat and Loki hums his approval. 

When Loki lifts his arms over his head to stretch, Thor pins them there and buries his face in Loki’s armpit, nuzzling it. The action incites throaty laughter and slight twitching, but is otherwise unhindered. Thor stays there, kissing a place it never, in over a thousand years, occurred to Loki that he’d feel the press of lips, let alone love it. Loki fears this is but one drop in an ocean of oversights on his part.  

Loki makes a moan of protest when Thor pulls away, but it’s premature, as Thor is merely moving a dozen inches to the right to pay attention to the other fuzzy underarm. He licks and sucks and nibbles it and Loki hums and strokes Thor’s legs with his own. They giggle when Thor pauses to pull fur from his tongue and then promptly resumes the activity that put it there.  

He gnaws lightly on the edge of Loki’s ribcage and Loki yelps and bats him away. Thor just grins and stretches out above him, reaching under the pillows to root for the oil. He makes a tiny sound of approval when his fingers finally connect with the cool glass and then sits back, straddling Loki’s thighs, waiting for the oil to warm in his palm.

“Thor-" 

“I know the cold doesn’t hurt you. But you feel it. I saw your nipples try to leap from your breast and your balls try to burrow into your belly every time we swam.”  

Loki smiles. Thor inches Loki’s foreskin down and then coats him with the oil in gentle strokes. Loki takes a slow breath and clears his throat.

“There is something to be said for the warmth,” Loki admits.

Thor laughs and nods his agreement, then crawls forward to straddle Loki’s hips and lowers himself onto Loki’s cock, bracing it with his fingers and bearing down. Loki watches Thor’s brow knit for a second and then relax again as he passes the tight ring of muscle and smooth skin pulls him in.   

Loki makes a low, quiet sound and then grabs the oil, fills his hand, and warms it with a spell, too impatient to wait for his flesh to do it. He wants his hand on Thor’s cock now. It’s taunting him from the throne of Thor’s hips, pink and full and perfect, crowned with a single drop of dew. Loki steals the little jewel from the head with his thumb and brings it to his tongue while his other hand anoints the entirety of the lovely thing between his brother’s legs.  

“Your cock is gorgeous," Loki gasps, hips thrusting up softly. "Thor, you’re gorgeous." 

Thor huffs and inclines his head to his own shoulder, hair falling over his face, hiding while he bounces gently above Loki’s hips. 

And Oh, Loki realizes, No one has ever told him he’s beautiful - not like this. That he has his own brilliance. They’ve praised the perfection of his violence and the rain he brings when they wish it - the future king of Asgard fetching their water for them. They don’t praise his willingness to please. His generosity. The selflessness that runs to dangerous depths within him: to sacrifice - to suicide. And I’ve done little but lie to him of late. Turned his love against him. Wounded him with his own heart. 

“Come here,” Loki says, reaching for Thor’s shoulders.  

Thor leans forward carefully and lowers himself onto his elbows while Loki brings his knees up between Thor’s legs to keep himself seated. It’s like Thor is in his lap, and the thought makes him hum.

“All right?” Thor asks, nuzzling Loki’s neck, and Loki wants to scream. He wants a list of everyone who has ever bothered to ask if Thor is all right. He suspects the head count would be in the single digits. To Hel with these realms, Loki thinks.  

“I’m in your debt again.”   

“You owe me nothing,” Thor says, between bites to Loki’s shoulder.  

“You gave me a surfeit of words. I would pay you back in kind.”  

“They were your prize,” Thor says, shaking his head and tucking his face into Loki’s neck.  

“Then accept them as a gift,” Loki whispers, pulling Thor flush against him and pressing his lips to a blushing ear.  

At first Loki only mouths at the lobe while his hips flex, sliding him through the delicious little passage between Thor’s legs. Thor moans softly and Loki rubs the mass of muscle that makes up his shoulders. Strokes his hair. Lowers his hands to let his fingers skate in graceful arcs across Thor’s back. He can feel his brother’s body beginning to relax. He kisses Thor’s temple, humming, and Thor sags, arms loose on either side of their heads. 

And what shall I tell him?  Loki wonders. 

Truths, he thinks. But which ones?   

Thor loves affection. Endearments. Joy. Kindness. 

He shall have them.  

But he likes battle and danger. Bloodshed and darkness.   

No. I’ve given him enough of those… Later, perhaps. 

“Brother,” Loki murmurs, and feels Thor’s erection twitch where it’s pressed between their bellies, hears air rushing past his parted lips. “I rob the realms when I shield you from their eyes. But I can’t be sorry. They haven’t the sense to seek you - indeed, they do not mark the theft - and so they prove themselves unworthy of such a sight. But I’ll be a generous god to them, dearest; my eyes shall gaze on you on their behalf.”  

Thor’s face is still nestled under Loki’s neck, nose behind his ear.   

Loki finds his brother’s shyness bewitching. Who would have dreamt that to disarm the god of thunder one need only tell him he’s handsome,Loki thinks, and bites his lips to stop them laughing.  

“You feel so good,” Loki purrs, rubbing soothing circles down Thor’s spine and dotting his shoulder with kisses. “You fit to my skin as water would; as though we were shaped for this.”  

Loki can feel Thor nodding his head in agreement. He slides his hands down to cup Thor’s backside and hears a sigh slip through Thor’s lips.

“And the warmth of you,” Loki marvels. “You’re like sunlight, love. Golden, too. I would bask in you, and winter would never come. You are the realm eternal; an endless summer.”  

Loki rolls his abs to rub Thor’s cock where it’s trapped between them and is rewarded with a gasp near his ear.

“And your beauty," Loki pants. “It is boundless, brother. You are as fair in the midst of battle, caked in blood and filth, as you are fresh fromthe baths. Your loveliness never falters.”  

Loki plants his feet farther apart to better brace his thrusts and Thor’s breath leaves his lungs to the beat of Loki’s hips, escaping in tiny bursts against Loki’s skin.  

“My  heart.  My god.  My king," L oki whispers, punctuating each sentence with a slow slide of his hips as Thor sucks a mark onto his neck and moans.

“I’ve only ever spilled with your face in my thoughts. With your name on my lips,” Loki confesses as hips drive up harder and the sand-and-honey thickness of his voice is diluted by his breathing. “I spent into the void of space thinking of you. I thought the Norns had been kind: blessed my eyes with the sight of you before I fell… I thought yours was the last face I would ever see…”  

Thor makes a sound Loki can’t decipher and Loki pushes him up gently until he’s on his elbows, face hovering over Loki’s. Thor’s cheeks are flushed and his irises are flooded with darkness and want, pupils pushing the ring of blue tightly to the edge.  

“… But they were kinder still, brother; they brought me here. Was it on your behalf? Surely I have fallen from their favor. But, you. You they could not help but love. Oh, look at you,” Loki whispers, fisting his hands in Thor’s hair and pulling him down into a kiss. 

Their hips and mouths send pleasure through their bodies in an unbroken circle until Thor heaves himself back up onto his knees and Loki slides so far into him they both groan. Thor rides him like that until his thighs are shaking.  

“Please,” Thor begs, breathless, and Loki could swear his skin just turned to liquid.  

He bends all his concentration to the task of stroking Thor’s cock. To be fair, he’s primarily making a steady fist into which Thor is thrusting as he bobs in the saddle of Loki’s hips. Loki’s arm is bearing up well, but his neck is nearly screaming with the strain of holding his head aloft, waiting to watch Thor spill.   

Thor sees his brother struggling and solves their problems with swift simple motions. He grabs Loki by the hair to keep his head up and Loki soon cries out, hips stuttering as he spends. Thor’s free hand closes over Loki’s fist and together they stroke his burning skin until he bucks and shouts. Some of Thor’s seed hits Loki’s chin and he gasps and swipes his tongue through it, eyes fluttering shut. When Thor finally lets go of his hair, his head falls to the pillow like lead, black curls spreading out around it like shrapnel. They both laugh and then curse as Loki slips out of Thor’s body and a mess of spunk follows him.

The light in the woods is getting warmer as the sun begins to sink. Loki knows he should drag Thor from the tent for another attempt at detecting different magics in a moment; he’s been putting it off for an hour already as Thor drifts in and out of consciousness, head pillowed on Loki’s shoulder. And they still haven’t gone hunting. Shit, Loki thinks, and sketches explanations to use in case anyone asks why they’ve returned home without any game.   

We ate it all.  His eyebrows lift, trying the thought on for size. Yes. This is a good one because it’s true. 

We were talking. He remembers Thor’s words and stifles a groan. Also true. Excellent.   

We overslept. He looks at Thor’s sleeping form and smirks.   

Three truths. That should be enough. And if there are any more queries I’ll simply say we were not in a mood for more hunting. Perfect. 

Loki is grateful when Thor wakes on his own; he hadn’t the strength to drag his brother from the soft embrace of sleep. Thor looked smooth and sweet and helpless, lying there in just his skin. Loki wanted to eat him. On principle. The nerve of the god. Lying about in the woods looking delicious. Loki should teach him not to be so careless with his person. But he won’t; he knows principles when he sees them, but has none to his name. It would be a shame to put Thor off sleeping naked in the middle of forests, in the middle of the day. The Norns will it, clearly. Loki shall leave them to it.  

Thor stretches, reaching for a canteen and passing it to Loki. They take turns drinking and soon drain it. Loki rolls onto his side to stroke Thor’s chest.  

“Do you remember when I’d come to fetch you from your sulks? In taverns, sometimes, but more often in far off fields?” Loki asks.  

Thor nods and Loki continues.   

“I never brought a spare horse, but rode one mount large enough for two. And you would be weary with whatever distraction you’d been practicing - pacing or drinking - and you’d slump behind me in the saddle, arms about my waist, head on my shoulder. And it was always raining,” Loki laughs, “but I would take the longest path back to the palace,” Loki shakes his head. “Couldn’t bear to part with you.”  

“I saw the pattern,” Thor admits. “You, coming to collect me on an enormous horse if I disappeared for a day without warning. So I started sulking further afield to lengthen the journey home… The way you look on a steed. Back straight and chest out. Chin up and heels down. Like a good death waiting in a battle… Like you were born there.” Thor shakes his head, smiling. “I would tuck myself so tightly behind you I feared you would protest.”  

“Never. I ached for it.”  

“Did you know I was sulking about you?” Thor asks, smirking.  

"What?"  

“I didn’t know what to do. Could see no solution. Wanted you, but feared I would lose you entirely by so much as seeking you. Decided some of you was better than none at all. Told myself I was being too greedy. Feared that, even if I were to see my wish granted, I would pay for it with Mother’s tears,” Thor sighs. “And I’d tell myself it was settled, only to be back where I started within a year.”  

“My thoughts took those shapes often,” Loki admits. “I thanked and cursed the Norns almost hourly for simultaneously setting you within my reach and rendering you forbidden. It hurt to look at you. But I couldn’t stop.”  

Thor’s forehead knots.  

“How did you know where I was?” Thor asks. “Some days the storms I called covered nearly all the realm.”  

“Ah,” Loki says, looking as close to guilty as he ever comes. “It was one of the first potions I ever put to use. It points me toward you. Pulls me if I seek you, as the stars tug planets to them.”  

“How?”  

“In your case, Morning Glory, Honeysuckle, and a strand of your hair, all reduced to ash, mixed with mead, and drunk.”  

“In my case? Would it be different if you sought someone else?”  

“Aye,” Loki laughs. “The Morning Glory would remain, but certainly not the Honeysuckle. And any piece of them would do: flesh, blood, bone…” 

Thor wrinkles his nose.  

“And what of Mother?” Thor whispers, after a moment.  

Loki looks at him, lost.  

“I know not. At my most selfish I think A parent’s deepest fear is of outliving their children, so there’s no harm done as long as we both draw breath. But I worry we would wound her with this.” Loki shifts to wrap Thor in both of his arms. “Though I dearly hope I’m wrong. The old gods are stronger and stranger than even you and I can fathom. And that’s encouraging, is it not? Freyja and Freyr came through unscathed, after all.”  

“Aye,” Thor laughs.  

“It’s possible she knew before we did. I’m not certain of the depth of her vision. And she gives nothing away. She could keep secrets from the Norns.”  

Thor nods and Loki rakes cool fingers down his back. Kisses the tip of Thor’s nose.  

“We’re not harming anyone,” Thor murmurs.  

“I know, love - just the opposite,” Loki whispers, shushing Thor with kisses. 

Loki eventually succeeds in luring Thor out to the beach by bolting from the tent, naked. Thor goes sprinting after him and tackles him to the ground. Their neighbor, the turtle, tips himself over in his haste to get away from the tangle of pale limbs that's writhing beside him. Thor crawls over to right the tiny reptile and apologize, and to rub his little armored belly when he thinks Loki can’t see. Loki can and does, watching Thor from the ground with his side still pressed to the sand. The god of thunder has a heart of roses and butterfly wings beating in his chest, Loki thinks, and red tears running through his veins. 

Loki passed the hour Thor spent napping wondering how to awaken the blond brute’s awareness of magic in both his mind and his muscles. He cannot, for the life of him, puzzle out how Thor can call to Mjolnir and the storms so precisely, yet experience their power so unconsciously after all this time.

And what of Mjolnir? Loki wonders. She is a magical object, and Thor can hear her as clear as birdsong. Loki had long assumed she was a neutral force, but, in light of Thor’s test results, he has been forced to reconsider. Could Mjolnir be positive magic? She has taken more lives than Loki can count. That would be remarkable, Loki thinks, but he can only reach her through Thor, so her true nature is clouded to him, corrupted by Thor’s goodness. 

When they’re seated and facing each other, Loki begins.  

He holds out his closed hands. In his left, there is a tiny sphere of ice that he has made; his right is empty.

“Which one?” Loki asks.  

Thor touches each hand and settles on Loki’s left.  

“Again.”  

Thor is correct.  

“Again.”  

Thor gets it once more, but Loki continues, wanting to be certain.  

He calls ice of different shapes: tiny daggers, arrowheads, figures, and cubes. Still, Thor is accurate.  

“Good,” Loki says, after dozens of tests.

“Was I right?” Thor asks.  

“Aye.”  

“So it was positive magic again?”

“Neutral.”  

“Then what changed?” Thor asks.    

“I’m not using raw magic. I’m using a form you’re rather fluent in. A medium.”  

Loki opens his hand to reveal a tiny egg of ice.  

“I thought it might answer to your call as the storms do,” Loki explains.  

Thor nods.  

“It was fainter than the storms, but had the same feeling. And are elements neutral then?” Thor wonders.  

“Yes. They can be bent to any purpose.”  

Thor hums.  

“Ready for more?” Loki asks.  

Thor nods, but with reluctance. Loki would rather be pursuing other areas of study as well. He’ll put Thor through one more round of tests and then cease this punishment.  

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands, love,” Loki says, and puts his fists in Thor’s palms.  

There is a blade of pure magic - meant to be thrown, meant as a weapon - in Loki’s right fist.  

“Which one?”  

Thor shakes his head.  

“I feel nothing.”  

“Again,” Loki says, calling a spell that acts as a poison - setting the nerves ablaze with pain - to rest in his left hand.  

Thor frowns.  

“Still nothing.”  

Ten minutes later Thor’s answers still haven’t changed.  

“Do you know any healing magic?” Loki asks.  

“Only a little, with the aid of herbs.”  

Loki must pale at this, for Thor’s head drops.  

“Sorry brother.”  

“Hush,” Loki says, too worried to be angry. “I’ll beg Odin to beat some sense into you.”  

Thor smiles. 

“What shall we do, love?” Loki asks.

“What do you mean?”  

“Do you wish to remain in the woods one more night, or return to our rooms?”  

“I shall never wish to leave this place,” Thor says, after a moment, pushing a hand through his hair and grimacing. “So we should go now. Before I lose the will to do it.”  

Loki nods. He collects their things with magic, not wanting to watch as their lovely little nest is torn down. He summons their clothes to their skin and their packs to their shoulders and Thor grabs him, squeezing him tightly. Loki can hear Thor’s breath rushing through his nose and feel the faintest tremor running through him. He rubs Thor’s back slowly and kisses his neck.  

“What’s wrong?” Loki whispers.

“Everything,” Thor laughs, mirthlessly.  

“Not yet,” Loki says, and Thor hugs him tighter and hides his face in Loki’s hair. “Shhh,” Loki soothes. “Come now. I’m right here. We’ll get a proper dinner in your belly. Perhaps mother will join us for a walk through the gardens. Then we’ll to the bath and to bed.”  

Thor nods and looks back at the woods once more before calling Mjolnir, arranging Loki on his foot, and taking them up. 

They land on their balcony. Loki takes Thor’s bag from him and heads into his room. Thor remains outside, leaning on the railing, staring off into the tops of the trees before him. He will miss the open expanse of the winter sky when the foliage is all unfurled. He loves the way the bare limbs twine through the air, like the letters of some ancient tongue that seems almost legible to him if he squints. His brother’s real colors stand before him in the blue of the sky, the pale peach of the western horizon at dusk, and the ebony lines of the branches.  

Thor joins Loki in his room, sitting at the table, watching his brother’s long legs carry his slender form with easy grace as Loki unpacks their things and stows them in chests and closets. The soft tapping of well-worn leather soles on the stone floor is a comfort to Thor’s ears; he has heard nothing but his own heavy footfall in these rooms for far too long. Loki sorts their linens and cleans them with magic. Thor is relieved the laundry maids won’t be seeing what they did to those sheets. 

Loki hears the sizzle of rain falling out on the balcony and the rumbling of thunder in the distance. Oh, Thor, he thinks, and squeezes his brother’s shoulder when he walks past before pulling out a seat for himself and dropping into it with a groan. 

“Shall we eat here, or in the dining hall?” Loki asks. 

Thor sets an open hand on the table and Loki takes it, smiling fondly. Thor pulls Loki’s fingers closer and traces their tiny bones before sighing softly.  

“We should eat in the dining hall,” Thor says. “If we try to eat in here I’ll get distracted and our dinner will go cold.”  

Loki snorts, presses Thor’s hand, and moves to sit in Thor’s lap.  

“Here,” Loki says, tipping Thor’s chin up.   

“What are you doing?” Thor asks.  

“Healing these marks. Odin and Heimdall will be able to see everything once I remove the ward I put upon us and we leave our hall.”  

Thor frowns.  

“Oh, don’t sulk, darling. I’ll give you new ones.”  

Thor grins his approval. 

Loki heals his own bruises before the mirror and then goes out to the stairs, sending a page to ask Frigga if she is free this evening and to ask Odin and Halldis if he may meet with them in the morning. A walk in the gardens is no longer an option, as the rain isn’t likely to abate until Thor sleeps… or, quite possibly, even later. Loki knew this was coming, and he’s grateful Thor managed to hold off this long. But the dam is beginning to burst. Their time is running short. Loki can feel it too. A tightness in his throat. A quiet dread. The tiny fractures that map where his heart will break. Three more days. We should have stayed in the woods, Loki laments.  

He removes the ward on their persons that hides them from sight beyond these walls, but adds a new ward to their hall; no sound will carry from these rooms.  

There’s a knock from the page and Loki goes back out to answer it. All of his questions have been answered in the affirmative. 

“What does Mother say?” Thor asks, when his brother returns.  

“She says we’re to save room for sweets and join her in her rooms after supper,” Loki answers.  

“How guilty do we look?” Thor asks.  

Loki laughs.  

“I’d say you look more cross than guilty. Do I look suspicious?”  

“No,” Thor answers, after thoroughly appraising Loki’s face.  

“Well then,” Loki smiles, “I’ll answer any questions about our hunt. And if you just sit there, looking tired and surly, you’re sure to be left alone.” 

Thor huffs. 

They dine in the hall, and the meal cheers them. They have to remind themselves not to say or do anything incriminating, and it's harder than they are expecting. Thor, especially, has a difficult time, as he isn’t entirely convinced that it’s necessary. It feels more essential to touch Loki than to hide his wish to do so. 

“What are your plans for the coming days?” Thor asks, wanting to know how much of Loki’s time he can call his own.  

“I have to make some arrangements with Odin and Halldis in the morning, but they shouldn’t take long. And I’ll spend as much time with Mother as she wishes. What are your plans?”  

Thor opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. Loki chuckles.

“Did you still want to go riding?” Loki asks.  

Thor nods and sighs.  

“I’ll try to send the rain away.” 

“There’s no need,” Loki says. 

Frigga greets them at the door to her rooms, kissing them and taking them by the elbows to a table arrayed with tiny cakes and confections.  

“They’re all different. My recommendation is that you eat every last one of them,” Frigga says, choosing a handful for herself.  

Thor raises his eyebrows and he and Loki take her advice to heart, splitting those that strike them as exceptional or more to the other’s taste.  

Their apprehension leaves them. Frigga looks at them as she always has. Thank the Norns,  Loki thinks. 

“May I see what’s on your loom?” Loki asks, between mouthfuls of sweets.  

“You may not,” she answers.  

Loki clutches his heart and gapes, right eyebrow ascending dramatically as a shocked gasp leaves his throat and his eyes fill with tears. Frigga laughs, forcing Loki’s hand, and he smirks.  

“May I?” Thor asks, intrigued.

“No!” Frigga and Loki answer in unison, and Frigga smacks Loki’s arm.  

“Ooooo, it’s a present,” Loki purrs.  

“Or perhaps it’s bare and she’s been in here napping and nibbling dainties for centuries,” Thor offers.   

Frigga pretends to look wounded and her methods match Loki’s. The resemblance between his mother and brother is undeniable to Thor, though it isn’t born of blood. The fluidity of their facial expressions; the beauty of their skin. Their low, lovely voices. Loki is Frigga’s, no matter how. 

Frigga pushes Loki into a chair and drops a book in his lap. She then seats herself on the couch, swinging her legs up onto it and leaning back on the arm, grabbing needlework from the table and resuming it effortlessly. Thor moves a chair and sits behind her head, pushing her forward briefly to pull her hair out from under her shoulders. Thor can’t see her failing to suppress a grin, but Loki can, and he finds her smile to be contagious. Thor begins a braid by her left temple and Loki reads Frigga’s favorite poems aloud until she finishes her stitching. Thor steals a scrap of thread from his mother and ties off the braids he has made. Frigga’s hair is in the plaits of a warrior and it’s striking on her. She would make a fine soldier, Loki knows, for she is fearless in the face of danger. He puts a gold glamour on her tresses and Thor grins. 

When she rises and catches her reflection in a mirror she laughs quietly. 

“When all of Asgard deems me vain and frivolous, and unfit to call their queen, I’ll have you two to thank for it.”

“Nay, good lady,” Loki answers, “you look fearsome. They’ll dare not speak a word against you.” 

Thor and Loki stand and she beckons them, kissing them goodnight and wishing them sweet dreams before asking them to dine with her for the next two days. Loki wonders why she hasn’t made plans with him on his last day in Asgard, but he doesn’t mention it.  They thank her for dessert and stroll back to their rooms, hearing Thor’s storm flare whenever they pass a window. 

As soon as Loki locks the door to their hall he takes his brother’s hand in his, kissing it and leading him back to his bedroom. They sit at Loki’s table again and sip cool water from gold cups. Thor lets out a slow breath and Loki realizes how worried Thor was about seeing Frigga. 

“You look tired,” Loki murmurs.  

“Aye. So do you. I wish it were otherwise.”  

“Come on,” Loki sighs, bending to unlace his boots and tugging them off, “We’ll have a bath and crawl into bed.”  

Thor nods and sees to his own shoes. They hang their clothes over the chairs and amble to the bath in just their skin. The spray from the serpent fixture pummels their necks as they sway beneath it, arms twined around each other, eyes closed. Loki allows himself the pleasure of bathing his brother, sliding soapy fingers over every curve of his skin. Some muscles seem to beg for more of Loki’s attention than others. Thor’s biceps, which weren’t dirty to begin with, have never been cleaner. Likewise his pectorals.   

Thor washes the aches from Loki’s neck with strong fingers and leads Loki over to sit on the first step of the bath and relax in the heat. Then Thor’s veins flood with panic.  

“Loki?”  

“Mmmm?”  

“The heat of the bath. Does it harm you?”  

“No, love,” Loki answers, smiling softly. “I get a bit more lethargic than you do, I think. I imagine I might faint if I stayed in too long. But that’s probably true of a number of Aesir.”  

Thor nods.  

“You’re thinking of the Chitauri.”  

“Aye,” Thor answers.  

“That hurt, terribly, but it would have been agony to almost anyone. I think my nature made it worse, but not by much. I couldn’t suppress the pain the way I normally would. Healing burns is difficult enough when one is well, and by then I was exhausted. The other wounds I could mend as they were made, but the burns…” Loki shakes his head, scowling slightly. “I find warmth quite soothing. Especially our bath,” Loki assures, adding, “and  you,” with a smile that’s almost shy. 

And then Thor is pulling Loki across his lap and twisting to kiss him. Loki hangs loosely from Thor’s neck, caught firmly in his arms. Thor seems to have found a second wind, and Loki decides to fling himself in its path and let it carry them both along. He kisses Thor with slow precision, pressing their lips together from every angle he can manage, opening his jaw to every available degree, tracing Thor’s tongue and teeth. He rains a dozen pecks on Thor’s cheeks and then butts their foreheads together gently.  

“Thor?”  

“Mmmm?” Thor answers, with his eyes closed.  

“Take me to bed.”  

Thor squeezes Loki and picks him up, spinning around to ascend the stairs, water spilling from their skin. He pauses, kissing Loki again while they drip dry before turning and aiming Loki at the gate that drains the tub. Loki takes the hint and pulls the lever; he will be their arms, and Thor their legs.  

“Walk me to the cupboard,” Loki instructs, and Thor obeys.  

He grabs some towels and Thor carries him down the hall, into Loki’s room, a trail of dark footprints glistening on the stone behind them. Thor tumbles them both onto the fluffy bed where they lazily pat each other dry and lace their limbs together. They wind one another up in a web of kisses from which they can’t free themselves, but they aren’t worried; they want nothing more than to press soft lips to smooth skin. To give gentle reassurances. Speak a wordless litany of yes to each other’s starving hearts. 

Thor kisses his way down Loki’s rosy chest, knees crawling up the bed as his hands walk down. And now his lips are nipping Loki’s thighs while his hips rest by Loki’s head. Clever thing, Loki thinks, and pushes Thor down onto his side, rolling to meet him. They continue with their kisses. Loki feels warmth bloom from his throat to his thighs, thrilled by the sensation of wet lips on his foreskin and the sight of Thor’s cock - full and flushed and dripping - just inches from his tongue.  

He wants to tease Thor, but only manages to mouth at his thighs and balls briefly before wrapping his arm around his hips and pulling him in tight, swallowing him down until he can feel the head of Thor’s cock at the top of his throat. Thor conveys his approval by following Loki’s example. They moan, happily, and the buzzing of their voices feels like music to their flesh. There is a symphony of wet smacking and sucking sounds, groans from Thor, higher humming from Loki, and the rustle of skin shifting on fabric. Loki spills first, with moans reminiscent of sobs, the sound muffled by a mouthful of Thor’s sweet skin. Thor holds off for a few more minutes but then Loki starts massaging the meat of his ass in a wide circle and Thor spends, thrashing against Loki's lips.  

They drag themselves to the head of the bed and collapse in a heap of wasted limbs. Their lips are red and swollen, and neither of them can stop staring. They laugh at their transparency.  

“I would have your portrait painted like this,” Loki admits.  

“And I yours,” Thor says, wiping a drop of seed from the corner of Loki’s mouth and bringing it to his own lips.  

Loki makes a small sound of approval at that sight and Thor smiles and tugs him closer.  

“Would you be insulted if I said this was the best idea you’ve ever had?” Loki asks, smiling.  

“No,” Thor laughs, shaking his head, “I’d be in agreement.”


	9. Day Seven

 

 

When Loki wakes he can feel warm skin pressed against him. Thor’s front is soldered to his back with sweat and there’s an arm around his waist and fingers tracing his ribs. Sounds reach his ears and resolve themselves into the patter of rain and the low growl of his brother’s voice at a whisper. How long has he been talking? Loki wonders. How much have I missed? But Thor can tell Loki is awake now and his words give way to kisses behind Loki’s ear. Loki waits to see if more words will follow, but Thor merely moves his hand to cup Loki’s belly and mouths at Loki’s neck.

“Thor?”  

“Mmmm?”  

Loki rolls over, catching a glimpse of the dark grey clouds, soft and wet, drifting across his ceiling and blotting out the sun. Thor’s face looks tired and the little crease between his eyebrows is deep - a sign of recent use. He decides to make an effort to distract Thor from his sadness as much as he’s able these last three days.  

“I must meet with Odin and Halldis,” Loki says, reaching to heal the marks he left scattered across Thor’s skin last night.  

Thor nods.  

“Would you fetch us breakfast while I’m gone?”  

“Aye,” Thor answers.  

“Tomorrow we’ll go riding. But, today, when we’re not dining… I would have you in here with me… like this. Unless you object.”  

Thor shakes his head no and Loki kisses his forehead and climbs over him, dressing more formally than he has in days. Still no armor, but a green silk tunic with gold embroidery, black leather breeches, and high boots. Thor reluctantly gets out of bed, stretching like a cat and humming. He plants a kiss firmly on Loki’s lips and squeezes Loki’s waist before sauntering off to his own room to dress.  

Loki puts his curls in order, inasmuch as that’s possible with all the rain, checks his skin one last time for any lingering evidence of Thor’s affections, and sneaks into Thor’s room, silencing the sound of the door with a spell.   

Thor has his leggings on and is in the process of slipping into his tunic. The flash of narrow waist Loki sees stops him halfway between the door and his brother. He stands, staring, until Thor turns to tie his hair up in a bun and spots him.  

“What are you doing, trickster?” Thor rumbles, making Loki’s skin pull tight over his bones.  

“I was going to startle you.”  

“Were you?” Thor asks, smiling. “Then how is it that you’ve come to look like a spooked horse?”  

“Entirely your fault.”  

“Mine?"  Thor asks, laughing.

“Aye, yours," Loki purrs, slinking toward Thor with a smirk. “You’re too bloody lovely. And to see you doing something as mundane as dressing… There’s an injustice in it. More than one, really. The clothes should leap onto your back, grateful to touch you. But, at the same time, it’s rather a tragedy that you’re ever clothed at all.”   

Loki sighs and Thor snorts.

“Careful,” Thor warns, brushing his nose against his brother’s. “My head will swell with your praises.”   

Loki’s nostrils flare and Thor grins, wrapping his arms around Loki’s waist to yank him closer before pressing kisses to his cheeks. He then grabs Loki by the shoulders, turns him around, and sends him off with a smack to the ass.

  

………..

  

Loki meets Odin in a small library off the throne room where he’s reading. He bows and Odin motions him toward a chair. Loki takes it and Odin looks at him with his head cocked.  

“What troubles you, my son?”

“My brother, as ever, I’m afraid.”  

“Oh?” Odin asks, smiling faintly.

Aye, my lord,” Loki says, and takes a bracing breath. “I have a boon to beg of you, All-Father.”  

“And what is that?”  

“Would you tutor Thor in magic? I made him promise to learn detection, defense, and healing. I tested him,” Loki runs a hand through his hair, “and what I learned was both deeply troubling and wholly unsurprising.”  

“How so?”  

“He is blind to all negative magic, and can only sense neutral when it’s bound in an elemental medium. Positive magic is as plain as day to him, of course. But he can’t heal a scratch.”

Odin smiles and nods.

“He is a difficult pupil.  

“Aye,” Loki agrees. “But he is like a willful colt; he responds well to patience and gentleness. To praise and rewards.”  

“I will see it done.” Odin says, and Loki sags with relief. “Now that I have this promise to hang over his head it will be easier to motivate him, I think. And he is not quite as impatient as he once was.”  

“Indeed,” Loki concurs, “His patience stretches further each day. Thank you, All-Father.”  

Loki rises and bows, turning to leave.  

“Loki.”

Loki suppresses the panic that swells in his breast and answers as calmly as he can.

“Yes, my lord?”  

“Your mother’s hair looked marvelous last night.”  

“Ah, yes, thank you. Though I only gilt it. The plaiting was all Thor’s handiwork.”  

“Was it? Well, if he has the patience for that he should have more than enough for spellcraft.”  

“Let us hope so,” Loki says, nodding to take his leave and slipping out the door.

Loki wonders, as he walks through airy halls, if Thor has somehow infected him with mirth. He feels quite happy in his skin. Not even Odin can put him off it. It’s strange. Is this what life feels like to Thor all the time? Loki asks himself. How deeply he must hurt when his heart is wounded, having fallen from such blissful heights.

 

………

  

Loki knocks lightly on Halldis’s door. She opens it and bows.  

“My prince.”   

Loki snorts and ducks to kiss her cheek.  

“I owe my life to you, lady. Do not bend to me.”  

She stifles a smirk and Loki thinks, If cats could smile, their faces would look much like hers at this moment.

“You look well, my lord.”

“I have you to thank for it,” Loki says, wandering over to her shelves to see if she’s compounded any new medicines.  

“What may I do for you?” she asks, resuming her work with a mortar and pestle.

“Grant tedious favors.”  

“Is that so?”  

“Aye. I’m afraid I made Thor promise to learn healing.”  

“Did you?” she laughs.  

“Mmmm. My recommendation,” Loki murmurs, “is that you motivate him with injuries to his person.”   

“I shall take him as a pupil, and I’ll consider your suggestion if he irritates me.”   

“There is also a page. Elif. He has the makings of a very good Mage, and healing would best suit his heart, I think. Try him, will  you?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Loki turns and beams at her, relieved, though he had no reason to expect he’d be denied.

“Thank you,” he breathes.  

She walks him to the door and he bows low. She catches his face in quick hands as he rises and presses a kiss to his forehead.  

“Be well, lad.”  

“And you, lady.”

…….

Thor has a hearty breakfast waiting for them when Loki returns to his room and they eat slowly, happy to sit together, bare feet brushingbeneath the table.

When they finish, Loki climbs into Thor’s lap, smirking, and starts kissing him. Thor’s groans grow longer and sink lower in register until they can only be considered growls. He puts his hands under Loki’s ass to hold him up and stands, relocating them to the bed. Thor pulls his shirt over his head, but otherwise they remain as they were; Loki perched on Thor’s thighs, fingers tangled in each other’s hair or clasping at shoulders. And still kissing. Still breathing approval - shaping thoughts with lips, teeth, and tongues while their throats are too slack for sound.

Loki climbs off and stands, legs slightly wobbly. He pulls a chair over to face his bed and motions Thor to sit in it. Thor does. The chair is just far enough from the bed that Thor can’t reach it, even with his toes.  

“Keep your hands loose at your sides and your backside on the chair,” Loki says, and Thor nods.  

Loki grabs a cloth from a cupboard and then goes to his shelves. He takes down a small black jar, sets it on his bed with the cloth, and lies down, looking at Thor briefly before closing his eyes. For a few minutes he merely lies there, taking deep, measured breaths. Slowly, he lifts his arms, and then his own spidery fingers walk down his chest, kicking his tunic up to offer a thin band of skin to Thor’s eyes. The digits dance over Loki’s waist in curving lines for a long time, and Thor reminds himself to pay more attention to that skin in the future. Loki’s lips are parted, still stubbornly pink in the grey light, breath coming in  short puffs. He pulls his shirt up higher and his fingers trace his hips, the muscles in his belly, and the lower ribs. They swirl under the sternum and follow the centerline down, circling the navel and then dipping into it before slipping lower. Thor can hear the scratch of scattered hairs catching on Loki’s nails and his cock throbs. He groans in pleasure and discomfort and hears Loki’s breath hitch. Loki arches his back off the bed to hike his shirt up higher and unlaces his leggings, but leaves them in place. His tongue peeks out to wet the tips of his middle fingers, which descend to tease the pink peaks of his nipples with damp glancing touches.   

Thor wants to fuck Loki so desperately he’s getting a tension headache from clenching his jaw. But he follows Loki’s orders to the letter, arms loose at his sides, ass glued to the seat.

Loki briefly palms his belly and soon his hands are flowing down over the hills of the hipbones and into the valley between the  thighs. He lifts his hips and slips his leggings down in a smooth motion, tossing them away with a flick of his wrist. Thor sucks in a breath. Loki’s eyes open and he looks down at his own body, flushed and damp. He slides his fingers through the sweat in the joints of his thighs and then sucks the tips into his mouth, one at a time, tasting salt and skin. Thor makes a strangled sound.   

Without looking, Loki finds and takes up his little black jar. Thor catches a faint scent. Something woody and sweet. Spicy and dark. Loki’s fingers emerge with a thick coating of something slick and colorless. He spreads it over his right hand with the third finger of his left hand and a soft sigh escapes him when he slides a loose fist onto his leaking cock. He strokes himself until his foreskin is down. The red shining head of his erection looks like ripe fruit to Thor’s starving eyes. He bends as far forward in his chair as he is able, filling more of his field of vision with his brother’s fair skin.  

Loki takes a deep breath and swings himself around to face Thor, looking him in the eye briefly before dropping his head back. He spreads his legs wide, knees bent, and wraps his toes around the edge of the mattress. Thor swears. Loki’s shoulders curl forward as both hands reach for hot skin. His right finds his cock. His left sneaks around to the side and his longest finger quests forward and down, landing in the little nest of skin it’s looking for. Thor traps a whine in the back of his throat, taming it into a whimper. Loki’s right hand strokes slowly while that lone clever finger slowly circles a twitching ring of skin.  

Thor’s mouth opens wide, but soundlessly, when that finger disappears, like a snake into its hole, and Loki breathes his brother's name.   

Loki’s hands work in tandem, sliding down and pressing in, pulling up and slipping out. His clever tongue is making quiet, desperate sounds. Thor can barely breathe. Can’t blink. Can’t close his mouth. Loki’s strokes take an almost vicious turn, twisting and tightening, but the motion of his finger remains smooth and even. His hips begin to rise and then he’s shouting Thor! and spending all the way up to his throat. Thor can see Loki’s balls lifting minutely as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.  

“Brother, please,”  Thor begs. For what, exactly, even he isn’t sure.  

Loki sits up slowly and cleans his hands with the cloth but leaves his seed on his chest.  

“Stand, hands hanging at your sides again,” Loki says, voice thin.  

Thor does, though his leggings make it miserable for him.

Loki pulls the chair away and then kneels in front of his brother. The stone floor is cool against his shins, and soothing, though unyielding. He mouths at Thor’s cock through his pants and feels the flesh bob against his lips while Thor hums. He tugs the laces loose and slowly peels the leather away from sweat-damp skin. Thor steps out of them and sighs, relieved, and Loki blows cool breath over him. Thor hums. Loki licks broads stripes over Thor’s hips and thighs where they’ve been creased by his clothes and blows on them again. This time Thor gets goosebumps.

“Turn around,” Loki murmurs, and Thor does.  

Thor feels Loki’s tongue tracing the creases at the tops of his legs and he twitches. Loki bites his ass gently, rolling flesh between his jaws and then sucking a bruise in the center of the ring left by his teeth. It tickles terribly, and Thor jerks. Loki's hands rub the backs of Thor’s legs gently before winding around and gripping his hips. Thor can feel the cool tip of Loki’s nose at the top of the cleft of his ass, and warm breath is spilling out between his legs in swift bursts. Then Loki’s tongue is back, sliding smoothly through the groove until Loki’s neck is bent at an impossible angle.  

“Arch your back for me, love,” Loki says, and presses a kiss to a peachy globe.  

Thor parts his legs slightly before he aims his hips at the floor and his heart at the ceiling. Loki moans at the sight.

“Perfect,” Loki praises and leans forward.  

His hands come back to grab handfuls of Thor’s ass, parting the cheeks slightly so he can see. He gapes at the smooth line of pink skin in front of him, and the twitching spot where that line breaks. He drags his tongue from the back of Thor’s balls to the base of his spine. Thor makes a breathy sound. Loki does it again, slowly, and more firmly. Thor whimpers and Loki’s pulse sprints. He leaves his tongue in the channel and runs it up and down in a slow rhythm. Thor’s hips twitch when Loki’s tongue stutters over the puckered skin of his hole. Loki’s strokes shorten until his tongue is only rubbing over the tiny opening and Thor’s hips no longer jerk, but his legs tremble. Gorgeous, Loki thinks, and he only knows he hasn’t said it aloud because his tongue has been busy pressing into Thor.  

Thor shouts and Loki’s heart swells. He lets go of Thor’s backside and the muscles press against his face pleasantly. His hands grip Thor’s hips again and pull them close as his tongue slides slowly through the tight ring. He wonders how his cock ever managed it. He delves deeper and Thor sobs. Loki’s jaw aches and his tongue is exhausted, but the way his brother is coming apart in his hands is motivation enough to continue for many minutes.  

“Loki... Please.”  

Loki pulls back and rolls his head on his neck.  

“Turn around,” Loki whispers.  

He kisses Thor’s cock as soon as it’s within reach of his lips and then sucks it into his mouth once before pulling off slowly.  

“Spill on my face. Or throat. Somewhere you can see it,” Loki says.

Thor nods and Loki swallows him again.

When he can’t hold out any longer Thor whispers, “Hold still,” and pulls back to spend on Loki’s mouth and collarbones with a moan. He stares, shifting his hips to drag the head of his cock through the seed on Loki’s lips. When he remembers himself, he reaches for his brother’s hands and helps him to his feet, unable to tear his gaze from the overlapping spatters, some fresh, some dry, that paint Loki’s skin.  

They take a long bath and it makes them lazy. Afterward, they climb back into Loki’s bed and Loki plaits Thor’s hair. When it dries, the curves of the braids will remain. He sets a heavy coin spinning on his table and casts a spell to slow it. When it drops to its side, the sound will tell them it’s time for supper. They curl up together and sag into the bed, listening to the rain tapping on the windows. It lulls them further, aided by the softness of the sheets.  

“It seems a shame to sleep through what little time we have left to us,” Thor murmurs into the back of Loki’s neck.   

Loki nods and gives Thor’s hand a squeeze where it rests over his belly before turning around, draping a leg over Thor’s thigh and burying his cold fingers in Thor’s armpit.   

“We don’t have to sleep,” Loki whispers into the corner of Thor’s mouth.

Thor hums and turns his head to press a kiss to a pale cheek. Their hands and lips move over each other’s bodies in a way that’s equal parts worship and topography. There is little of sex in this. Their tired cocks sleep, swaying as their hips shift, and leave them to their explorations. Thor has his brother on his back and is kissing unexpected, yet strangely specific, spots on Loki's chest. When Thor’s mouth makes the leap from the ribs to the back of the knee, Loki’s mind finally finds the connection.  

“You’re kissing my burns,” Loki breathes.  

“Aye,” Thor rumbles, and looks up to meet Loki’s eyes. “All right?” he asks.  

Loki nods.

They’re tangled together at the edge of sleep when the coin falls, and they rise to dress for dinner. Thor looks lovely in slate grey. It makes him seem even more golden in comparison. His hair is in waves and his face is framed beautifully. Loki wishes for one of Midgard’s cameras.

The dinner Frigga has waiting for them is accompanied by a quantity of wine that has Thor grinning even as his eyebrows rise. They drink and talk and laugh and feel exactly as they did centuries ago. Loki’s eyes sting at the thought of how much he has missed this - will  miss this. Before the wine nudges them any closer to slumber, Loki asks Frigga to tell them what they were like as babies. She beams at him.

“You,” she says, tapping Loki’s foot under the table, “were the debt the realms owed me after they tormented me with Thor. You never cried without reason. You gurgled happily to yourself when you were alone. You nursed delicately. You slept-“  

“Nursed?” Loki interrupts.  

“Aye,"  Frigga answers, looking at Loki like his brain has just slithered out his ear and onto the floor.

“But you didn’t carry me,” Loki explains rather lamely.  

“I was still nursing Thor, because it was one of the few things that ceased his squalling. He could have been eating boar. But he calmed when you came, and I gave you his place.”  

Loki hums.

“Was I entirely wretched?” Thor asks.  

“No. You were lovely when you slept.”  

Loki snorts and Thor shakes his head, grinning. Frigga laughs.  

“The maids would always steal you when you were in good temper. And promptly return you when it waned. Your father had to rescue me from you almost daily. I don’t know where he found the patience for your screams, but thank the Norns he did so.”  

“Why did I weep?” Thor asked.  

“If I knew I’d have granted whatever wish would have stopped you. Loki arrived just in time - I was about to leave you on a doorstep.” She pinches Thor’s nose. “You were besotted with him. Too curious for tears. And he put up with your grabbing and babbling quite graciously.”  

“Some things never change,” Loki complains, and Thor smiles at the ceiling but his brows fall and twist soon after, with thoughts he won’t share or questions he won’t ask.  

Frigga cocks her head, smiling softly, and squeezes Thor’s hand, but says nothing. She rises and they say their goodnights.

………

  

Thor is still quiet when they return to Loki’s room. The wine has left them both drowsy, but where it has set Loki adrift in slack contentment, it has mired Thor in some strange worry. They step out of their clothes and climb into bed, limbs heavy and slow.  

“What’s wrong?” Loki asks, as he tucks himself under Thor’s chin.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since before I can remember,” Thor murmurs.  

“Mmmm. Sounds like something you would do.”  

Thor breathes a laugh into Loki’s hair, but his shoulders are still tense. Loki won’t press him. They’d likely quarrel, and he can think of better things to do.  

Loki wonders if Odin’s spell has broken yet. It must have, he thinks. But when? He didn’t feel the spell snare him, so he doubts he would have noticed its dissolution. When we kissed, at the latest, he decides. Probably before then. It could cost dear truths to cheer Thor, but there’s no cause to hoard them any longer. He’s banishing himself. What he doesn’t share in the next two days will rot with him, wasted. And surely they’re all things he knows already, Loki reasons. I can be extravagant. Loki hides a secret smile at the base of Thor’s throat.

He pushes Thor onto his back and stretches out on top of him, pulling a sheet over them and dropping kisses to his jaw, lips catching on the bristles of beard forming there. Thor rests his hands on Loki’s backside and hums out a long breath as his brother mouths at his ear.  

"Peach," Loki whispers, because lately he can’t look at Thor without thinking it.

Thor’s laugh rolls beneath Loki like a wave.

“Cow,” Thor answers.  

“Eagle.”  

“Magpie.”  

“Swan,” Loki murmurs, nipping his way up a long neck.  

“Heron,” Thor says, knocking Loki’s long legs with his own.

“Honey,” Loki breathes, and Thor presses their temples together.  

“Sweetheart,” Thor rumbles, a soft word from such a hard voice, and Loki is still for a moment.  

“Valkyrie,” Loki purrs, for Thor often chooses who falls in battle.  

“Sylph,” Thor returns, sliding his hands over slim flanks.  

“Nymph," Loki chirps, and Thor hums, nearly giggling.  

“Adonis,” Thor sighs.  

“Ljosalfar.”  

“Love.”

“Darling," Loki slurs around the apple of Thor’s throat.

Thor pulls Loki tight but says nothing, face pressed to the curve of Loki’s neck.  

“What is it?” Loki whispers.  

“Two days,” Thor answers, shaking his head faintly, voice thick.  

“Don’t trust time to provide your happiness. Or to take it from you. The only promise it keeps is death,” Loki warns, voice soft.

Thor nods, knowing this is true, but his heart is stubborn, resisting reason. Loki sighs, feigning frustration, then kisses Thor's  cheek and pulls back to look him in the face, but Thor’s gaze is downcast and unfocused.

“At this moment,” Loki says, “I am safe, whole, and happy. Warm and naked in the arms of the one I love.” Bright blue eyes look up at him, and Loki is lifted by the air that rushes into Thor’s lungs. “Are you not warm, Thor?” Loki asks, squishing their noses together and wiggling his hips.  

“Aye,” Thor answers, squinting slightly with the stretch of his smile.

“And your belly is full of wine and meat, is it not?”

“Mmmm,” Thor nods, and his hands slide up to draw symmetrical swirls on the small of Loki’s back.  

“Then you’ve no cause to fret. So find something better to do, won’t you?” Loki purrs.  

Thor does.

Loki is lying on his back atop his brother’s broader form, trapped between the cock in his ass and the hand on his prick. The fingers of Thor’s left hand caress Loki’s waist, and he thinks he could spill from that sensation alone. Their mouths have resumed their match from before, batting sobriquets and confessions back and forth, setting their cheeks ablaze. The sheets are adhered to Thor’s spine with sweat, much as it binds Loki to his front, and obscene sounds escape from the wet hollow of Loki's back where Thor’s stomach presses into it.  

Loki has his hands splayed over Thor’s and he’s sobbing, “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop…”  as Thor’s hips thrash beneath him. Thor is groaning and gasping out things that make Loki’s heart ache. Staggered between his own cries he hears, “You feel so good… love you so much… oh Loki… oh fuck… oh brother, brother…”  and those last three words having Loki screaming their echo at the ceiling.


	10. Day Eight

They wake to the cool grey silence of an overcast dawn. By unspoken agreement they merely shuffle closer to each other, tangle their limbs together, and slip easily back into sleep. When they finally rise, the invisible sun is directly over their heads.

In the kitchens they grab a basket and fill it with fruit, eating some of it on their way to the stables and saving the rest for the horses.  

Sleipnir is is so excited to see Loki they have to take him out to the paddock to grant him enough room to get it out of his system. Loki spoils him with apples and Thor watches them butting their heads together and nudging each other. Loki has no shame when he’s with his children. 

Sleipnir wasn’t breathing when he was born, and his mother hadn’t known what to make of his eight legs. The princes had raised him themselves, frequently feeding him by hand, or putting blinders on his dam so she wouldn’t be disturbed by his shape as he nursed.   

The horse is lucky to be alive; the stable master is kind, but busy and practical, and likely wouldn’t have bothered with saving him. Thor, magnetically attracted to all things pregnant, had noticed a mare that was too full for one foal but not full enough for twins. He asked Loki to attend the birth with him, wanting a healer present for what would likely be a difficult passage; Loki has always been better with wildings than anyone Thor knows.   

Loki didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the excess of limbs, but instructed Thor to cover the motionless foal’s mouth while he breathed into its nose. Later, Thor wondered if Loki was pouring magic into the colt’s lungs as well as air. He knows the answer now. 

Today there are new foals, tottering on legs that threaten to fold up beneath them. Thor beams as he shows them off to his brother.   

“It’s a shame none of them got your eyes,” Loki teases.  

“They all got your legs,” Thor returns, and revises the grope his hand was heading for into a playful smack to Loki’s ass in case Odin and Heimdall are watching.  

Loki chooses a horse, Vindr, big enough to seat them both and forgoes a saddle. He casts a ward on them and then on Sleipnir, who is following.   

Thor takes his traditional spot behind his brother on their ride and spends most of the day with his chin hooked over Loki’s shoulder, arms around his waist, humming old songs into his ear. He kisses the back of Loki’s neck often, tasting the rain that now drips down it, flavored with his skin, or he leaves his lips there and breathes in the scent of clean wet hair.   

The world is damp and grey. Thor feels weirdly exposed, as though all of Asgard will know his mind because they’re walking through an extension of it. And he worries, knowing the worst is yet to come.  

When they return, they are soaked. Loki dries and warms Vindr and Sleipnir, and says his farewells now. Thor moves away to give Loki privacy and to seek some for himself, eyes stinging as his brother prepares to leave.  

In their hall, they bathe and dress afresh. Frigga has a hearty supper waiting for them, and delights her sons with anecdotes about each of them. They see their lives through her eyes. Learn of days they were to young to remember. Loki learning to walk at the same time Thor did, though they were a year apart, not wanting to be left behind. Thor keeping a wary eye on anyone who touched Loki, instructing them in the proper care of his baby brother with the few words he knew. How they were both such pretty things the maids would invariably report they’d been mistaken for girls by guests and new workers. 

And she reminds them of things they know, but haven’t recalled in ages. How, when Loki had been sent on a diplomatic errand to Vanaheim, Thor had paced the halls of the palace day and night until his brother returned, though he could hardly have had a safer appointment. And, when Thor went on his first hunt by himself, Loki sat staring out a window overlooking the road, book forgotten in his lap. He had shouted when he saw blood on Thor’s clothes, fearing it was a wound rather than a stain.  

Thor locks their hall for the night and Loki turns to face him, takes him by the hand, puts his arm low around Thor’s back, and then dances them down to his door. Thor chuckles, but doesn’t release his brother, instead gliding him back up the hall to his own room. Loki smiles and leads them inside; he’s pleased at the thought of being in his brother’s space, surrounded by surfaces that have been beaten smooth by golden skin. The doorknob worn and polished by the curl of Thor’s fingers. The mattress steeped in a thousand years of his scent. The sheets softened by the shifting of his sleeping limbs.  

They slip off their clothes and Thor turns down the bed. Loki climbs into it, enjoying the unfamiliar height and stretching out on his back to admire the gilded ceiling above him. He can hear his brother rummaging around in the closet past his head.

Thor sets a small pot between the pillows and turns to close the curtains behind him. The darkness is nearly perfect. Loki feels the bed dip as Thor stretches out beside him.  

“Shall I give us some light?” Loki asks.  

Thor doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the way Loki says us. Like they are one person. Like he is talking to himself.  

“Please,” Thor says, and Loki hangs Asgard’s stars in the golden dome of the ceiling. They’re both reminded of their tent in the woods.  

“What is this?” Loki asks, opening the little jar, bending to sniff it, and noting it smells faintly of honey.  

“It’s what the dairy maids use on their hands,” Thor answers, with a grin that’s almost sheepish.  

Loki laughs and flops onto his back again.  

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten you’re Asgard’s foremost dairy maid. Hmmm. We should dress you like one. I’ve always found the aprons  rather fetching. I could hide under your skirts. Give you a good milking.”

Thor groans, but he’s shaking with laughter, face planted in his pillow. Loki giggles and scoots closer, draping a leg over the backs of Thor’s knees and Thor turns onto his side and shuffles closer until their bellies press softly together. They both look tired. Carrying the weight of their sadness quietly through the palace has exhausted them. And time seems to have sped up when they need it most. Each day passes faster than the last.

Thor puts his arm under Loki’s neck and the fingertips of his free hand scoop up some unguent. Loki flattens one palm on Thor’s breast and buries the other in his blond hair, tugging him into a kiss. Warm fingers slide over Loki’s cock and he spreads his legs and lets his breath out slowly against his brother’s lips. His hips press forward, seeking more, and he gets what he’s asking for. Hot breath ghosts over his cheeks when Thor sighs, slicking his own skin and shifting to grab more salve. He watches Thor's hand like it holds answers, which it does, because he’s waiting to learn what new wonders their bodies hold for them. With careful, curving strokes, Thor paints their hips, stomachs, and the insides of their thighs. Then he pulls Loki close, pressing in at the small of his back, and they glide against each other. It leaves their hands completely free and they take full advantage, caressing and squeezing, scratching and pulling. It’s like that first night of kisses in Loki’s bed.  

“Clever thing,” Loki whispers, and Thor licks into his mouth.


	11. Day Nine

Thor wakes to find Loki wrapped around him, lips at the back of his neck, arm hooked around his ribs, a long leg thrown over his thin hips.  

“She knows,” Thor says.

“Yes,” Loki says, and Thor feels him nodding. 

“She knows everything, doesn’t she? I don’t know why I thought we’d be immune to it. How can she bear it?”  

“She is made of sterner stuff than we could ever hope to be,” Loki answers.  

“She seems not to mind,” Thor says.  

“Indeed. She is as she ever was.”

“Do you think she would conceal her grief? Or her anger?”  

“I can’t be certain. My heart tells me she has anger and grief, but they are not for what we've done.”  

“For whom then?” Thor asks.  

Loki shakes his head. 

They doze a little longer and then Thor rolls over to say good morning properly, which takes the better part of an hour and leaves them both sticky and breathless. Afterward, they lie in a damp tangle of sheets, breathing sluggishly and fighting off sleep. Thor feels Loki’s seed slowly seeping out of him.  

“What will you do today?” Thor asks, voice low and thick, the sound of it murky, somehow.  

“I have to see Mother. And I have a few trifling affairs to set in order. I’d like to cast some protections on you and your armour. And then we can do whatever you like, if you’re not busy.”  

Thor laughs.  

“Where else would I be?”  

They put themselves together and go their separate ways. Loki isn’t sure what Thor is doing, but he’s certain it will break his heart somehow. His own plan is to plant his knees firmly at his mother’s feet, rest his forehead on her knees, and sob freely into her skirts for the remainder of the morning. It goes off without a hitch. 

Thor is still out when Loki returns to their hall. He takes the opportunity to compound a potion; a parting gift for his brother. He enhances the wards he had hastily placed on Thor’s armor when they stood on the Bifrost, just after their return from Midgard, making sure they’ll withstand weapons seen and unseen.   

In the back of Loki’s closet is a trunk filled with strange riches. Thor might not appreciate half of them yet, but he will come to. They are all worthy of a king. Odin will be able to explain their uses to him.   

There is another trunk, and Loki hesitates a moment before capitulating to sentiment and dragging it out into the room. These are treasures Thor will love at first sight.   

Drawings they did of each other when they were children, some meant to mock, others to flatter, on paper gone brittle and yellow. Hands with too many fingers. Smiles with too many teeth. They both look like monsters, but the effect is strangely charming.  

Baby teeth teased out by relentless little tongues, in velvet lined boxes made of silver.   

Tiny wooden swords, hilts worn smooth by grubby hands and blades notched.   

Rings they wore as boys, now too small for even their littlest fingers, tied to satin pillows and placed in carved wooden cases.  

A horse cast in bronze with garnet eyes, modeled after Thor’s favorite mare, at Loki’s request, upon her death. Its twin is displayed prominently on the mantle in Thor’s room. He doesn’t know Loki has one, too. Loki loved her because Thor loved her. A strange horse who heeded no rider, but if you let her take you where she pleased, she would delight you without fail. And a glutton for affection; she never tired of their petting and brushing and plaiting her mane.  

A book of bedtime stories Frigga and Odin read to them until they could read it themselves. Then they took turns reading it to each other. It is full of the most wonderful illustrations Loki has ever seen. He thought he must have been exaggerating their merit with some overly romantic quirk of memory, but flipping through the pages now he sees that he was right; they are as delightful this day as they ever were. Thor would ask about the book every now and then and Loki would never admit to knowing its where abouts. He’s not sure why.  

Necklaces made from the teeth, claws, and scales of the first bilgesnipe they hunted together. Loki doubts Thor’s will fit around his neck now.  

Hundreds of sketches of Thor. He’s sleeping in most of them, as he would hardly hold still otherwise. Passed out in one of their beds after a battle. Dozing in tall grass when he was recovering from the snake’s venom. Napping at Loki’s table after they had drunk too much mead. Reading, a faint smile gracing his lips. Loki kept charcoal and paper at the ready in those days. If Thor was especially tired he’d use ink, sometimes with a quill, usually with a brush. You can watch Thor grow up on the pages. I should have given these to Mother, Loki thinks. Perhaps Thor will do so.  

Loki divides his hair into three sections, one over each ear and one at the back, ties them with leather cord, and then slices them off with his knife. He braids them together and secures the end before tossing the plait into the chest. He takes the quills he made from the feathers of the goose they ate a week ago and sets them carefully into the box, closing it hastily as he hears footsteps on the stair and the click of the lock.  

Thor is in his own room. Loki taps the doorframe gently and Thor looks up, eyes going wide at Loki’s hair.  

“You look lovely,” Thor murmurs. “And you’ve no need to knock.”

Loki shrugs and walks in. Thor has packed food for him. Primarily in the form of marchpane and Idunn’s apples. And there are clothes, from light linens to a full length fur cloak.  

“You are so like her,” Loki says, smiling.  

“Whom?” Thor asks, brow rumpled.  

“Mother.”

“Am I?”  

“Aye, love,” Loki says, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around Thor’s waist. “She wants to see you this evening.”   

Thor gives a tight nod. Loki begins casting protections on his brother.   

“Tell me what you’re doing to me,” Thor requests, curiosity tinting his speech.  

“This will muffle the sounds you make unwittingly. Your breathing and footsteps, the rustle of your clothes, and the clink of your armour,” Loki explains, as a filmy glowing smoke flows out from his fingers and over Thor’s form.   

“This,” Loki says with his fingertips pressed to the pulse in Thor’s throat, “will create a field around you when your blood rises to panic. It will abate when your heart slows. You’ll be able to reach out through it, but no threat can reach in.”   

Thor hums.  

“This will deafen your ears to enchantments and cause them to ring when they hear lies,” Loki says, kissing each lobe and whispering  spells.

“This will keep weapons from piercing your skin,” he purrs, parting the neck of Thor’s tunic and tracing runes over a steadfast heart.  

He wraps his arms around Thor’s neck and and drops his mouth to Thor’s lips.  

“This will make certain your calls for aid are always heard by your friends,” Loki tells him, murmuring a spell and spreading it over Thor’s tongue with his own.   

“And that’s all I can give you that won’t do more harm than good. You’ll have to learn the rest yourself,” Loki sighs.  

“I shall. Thank you. I wish I had more to offer you,” Thor says, frowning. “I’m not even certain you’ll be able to take these things with you, but it can’t hurt to try. Perhaps you should eat some of the apples now, though.”  

“That might be for the best,” Loki agrees. “Join me, won’t you?”  

Thor nods and they sit at his table, noisily munching the fruit.  

“We sound like horses,” Thor says, and Loki smiles.  

“I’ve gifts for you in my room,” Loki says, reaching across the table for Thor’s hand.  

“Gifts with ebony curls and eyes like the sea?” Thor asks, hopeful, eyes twinkling.

Loki snorts.  

“Only if you’re good.”  

Thor extends his hand and Loki presses a small vial into it. There’s a pale grey liquid inside.

“What’s this?”  

“A potion.”  

Thor rolls his eyes and smiles.  

“Yes, but what does it do?”  

“Eases the mind,” Loki says with a slight shrug.

“How?” Thor asks, the smile falling from his face.  

“It makes you forget the thing that troubles you.”  

There’s a long pause. Loki stares over Thor’s shoulder out the window at the rain.

“And what troubles me, brother?” Thor asks, voice low, jaw tight.  

“Ebony curls and eyes like the sea.” 

Thor is shaking his head and setting the vial back in Loki’s hand. Loki sighs and pockets it, reining his gaze back to meet his brother’s. 

“I’m not coming back.” 

“What?” Thor asks, before he realizes what Loki’s talking about, face going pale when he puts it together. “How can you know that? Is there something wrong with the spell?”  

Loki shrugs again.  

“Answer me!” Thor shouts, and Loki leaves the table to stand staring into the cold hearth. His fingers tease a fire from it, burning off hisnervous energy.  

Thor sits, mind reeling. He can make no sense of this.  

“You jest,” Thor breathes.  

“No.”  

And now Thor really is lost. His mind stumbles from one ugly thought to the next, shrinking from them, but unable to shake them.    

“Has this all been one of your games? Punishment for every wrong I’ve done you? Do you hate me so much?” Thor chokes. 

Loki turns and stares, transfixed by the tears that are cresting the fragile skin of Thor’s lower lids, breaking under their own weight, and spilling down his cheeks to catch in his beard. His slim fingers seek the glittering spheres unbidden, and he carries them to his tongue to taste the fruits of his failure, ticking it off the list of Thor’s four flavours.

“I should lie to you,” Loki says, voice soft and thin - wet, somehow. “Tell you it was just another cruel trick… But I’m too weak,” he huffs. “You would hate me for it, and I couldn’t bear it. Besides, you’d know I was lying.”  

Thor looks perplexed and Loki rolls his eyes.

“I do not love you,” Loki states flatly, staring at the ceiling.  

Thor’s ears ring with magic and he jerks. And, if possible, his situation now makes even less sense to him.  

“Why are you doing this?” Thor asks.  

“For you!” Loki shouts, exasperated.  

Thor glares at him and is out of his chair before Loki can draw another breath.   

My ears aren’t ringing now, Thor realizes. What does that mean?  

“I never asked this of you,” Thor growls. “And it could scarcely be further from what I want.”  

“Then you’re a fool, still,” Loki spits, and spins on his heel, moving to pace the length of the room and fiddling with his hair. Thor watches him. He’s beautiful, even like this - wild and vicious. Thor’s fingers twitch, stubbornly wanting to reach for him.   

“I do not understand. Have I hurt you? Or wronged you? Do you wish to leave? Did you not want this?”  

“Shhh. Stop it. I’ve always wanted you. You are incapable of committing any act that could alter that.”

“Then why-“  

“It’s not about the past, it’s about the future! You have one weakness, Thor, and it’s me. I have ever been your blind spot, brother.”  

Thor shakes his head no. 

“Thor, he knows. Odin knows. I told him. Not about us, but about me. How I’ve loved you. I have to go. If he turned on you again because of the things I’ve done I couldn’t forgive myself. He shouldn’t doubt you - no one should. They will never trust you with me by your side. You’ll be a brilliant king. Asgard needs you. You’ll make her better. If I ruin that for you, you’ll resent me, and I’ll despise myself.”  

“You think I would choose Asgard over you?” Thor boggles, stalking closer to Loki arms flexing at his sides. “The throne over you? Anything over you? Are you still so blind? I’m yours, you bloody mule. ”  

Loki laughs.  

“I know, love. And we’ve had nine marvelous days. Can we not simply be grateful for that and part peacefully, while things are still perfect?”  

“Is this how you would show your gratitude? By throwing everything away? A thousand years of struggling and you’ll not suffer one more day of celebration?”  

“I’ve wrested these days from the fates, and I am not sorry for it. But I know myself, brother; I destroy everything I touch, even when I mean not to. I couldn’t bear to watch myself bring ruin to this, too.”  

“Then don’t do this,” Thor begs, but Loki shakes his head sadly.  

“Remember what I told you? Right before I spoiled your coronation?” Loki asks, and Thor pauses, his balance thrown off by Loki’s sharp turn.  

“That was a blessing. You saved Asgard from the waste I would have made of her. And Jotunheim. Saved me from myself.”  

“What did I say?” Loki demands.  

“You told me… whatever happens… I should never doubt you love me.”

“Believe that, brother. It’s my only truth. What is to come will not be easy for me, but I’ve earned it. You deserve better. So I shall give you a scratch now to spare you from the killing stroke that would come.”  

Thor is shaking his head, face taut and flushed. Loki grabs his chin, stilling him.  

“I need you to trust me in this. Please, Thor. This is my gift to you. You are free of me. Of the mistrust I will burden you with if you keep my company. Of the heartbreak I will bring you. You do not belong to me, brother. You belong to Asgard as much as to yourself, there is no scrap of you left for me to beg for. You have allies, friends, a kingdom. I have you. And I would put all you have at risk.”

Thor’s brows draw together and he grabs Loki by the upper arms, wanting to thrash him, but hating to hurt him.  

“No, damn you. You break the spell, and you come home. Do you hear me?”  

“Thor, it’s likely broken already. This love was my last secret-“  

“What? Then what are you talking about? Where are you going?”  

“I’m banishing myself!”  

“Oh, Norns. Why?” Thor roars.  

“Because I’ve failed you,” Loki rasps.  

“You ne-“  

“Thor, I can’t even keep the promises I make to myself! I was never going to tell anyone  of this ridiculous obsession and then I screamed it at the All-Father. Can you imagine? I told him I wouldn’t tell you - that I would rot in his spell. And, after that, I managed to keep my lips shutfor all of two days before I opened them to your tongue. Dragged you into this danger. Hel’s dead have more honor than I do!”  

Thor groans.

“If you want to leave, fine, but I’m coming with you.”  

Loki barks a laugh.  

“You’re heir to the throne, Thor, I suspect they’d notice your absence. And they’d blame me for it, brother, you know they would. They’d assume I’d abducted you or something equally absurd. I’d be hunted down like a beast.”  

“Do you think I’d let harm come to you? Do you still doubt I want you? Do you think I’m leaving you? Have you gone mad?"  Thor snarls. 

“Yes!” Loki hisses, and spittle flies from his lips. 

He hates that. Like a rabid dog, he thinks bitterly. Perfect.   

Droplets land on Thor’s face and he doesn’t even blink. Loki has been frothing at him like this for so many centuries Thor doesn‘t mind it anymore.   

“Thor, I just spat in your eye.”  

“I know.”  

“Well, blink or something, will you?”  

Thor does so, cracking a tiny smile, and then they’re both quaking and crumpling with laughter, and the tension leaves the room like sand through fingers.  

Loki fills his lungs to their limit with air and lets it out as a sigh, coloring it with expletives and dragging both hands down his face. Thor puts his hands on Loki’s waist and pulls him close, kissing his forehead.  

You gorgeous, stubborn, fearless thing,  Loki thinks fondly, still a bit bewildered.  

“Go undress and meet me in the bath,” Thor mumbles against Loki’s temple, turning him toward the door and squeezing his shoulder before giving him a faint shove.  

Loki raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, walking out into the hall in a daze. His pulse is calming and his heart feels lethargic now in the wake of such frenzied beating. He takes the potion from his pocket and sets it in a jar on his shelves, sets his clothes on a chair, and runs a hand through his hair. It still unnerves him when his fingers slide free of the strands a full six inches before he’s expecting it. He toys with the blunt ends of his curls, idly wondering whether they’ll flatter his strange face. He glances across the room to the mirror and sees his pale naked form staring back, small from this distance. He scoffs at  himself and stalks to the bath on only the balls of his feet, sneaking up on Thor. The floor is so cool it fools his skin into thinking it feels dampness. 

Thor tugs his clothes off and makes his way to the bath, drawing water and tossing in herbs, hoping to soothe both himself and his brother enough that they might manage a calm conversation. They are long overdue. He takes deep measured breaths as the roar of the water around his ears drowns out his troubled thoughts. 

He is standing under the spray with his hands braced on the wall and his head hanging down, face obscured by a veil of blond that twists and swirls with the water that flows over it. Loki tiptoes into the room and admires his brother’s body through the steam that floats up around it, watching the flashing of the droplets bouncing off of his shoulders and rivulets running down his spine. His eyes grow envious, following the surface of the rising water, tracing its path up Thor’s calves, into the backs of his knees, around his thighs. He slips silently into the pool, wanting to get his hands on Thor’s backside before the view is muddled by the bath water.  

Thor starts and chuckles as Loki’s dry palms press his soaked skin. He arches his back a bit to give Loki more of what he seems to have come for and Loki makes a small hum of approval, bending to kiss the base of Thor’s spine and biting his ass gently. He drapes himself over Thor like a cape, arms clasped around his neck, cock nestled in the cleft of his ass. They stand there and forget themselves.  

“Shit," Loki gasps, and wades through the bath as quickly as the water will allow, reaching to to close the gate before everything overflows onto the floor.  

They float side by side, elbows brushing together, hearing only the sound of water lapping at stone until Thor tips over with a splash and stands. He puts one hand at the small of Loki’s back and the other over his belly and slides him through the bath like a toy boat. He takes a seat on the stone step and pulls Loki onto his lap, bending to kiss him over the heart and gripping his waist. Loki rearranges himself, settling his backside between Thor’s femurs and draping an arm around his neck. He tips his head back and Thor takes the hint, kissing and sucking his throat until Loki finally swings his head up, sated. Thor hugs him close, tucking Loki into his shoulder.  

“Stay,” he breathes into the shell of a flushed ear and Loki stiffens. “Shhhh,” Thor soothes. “This week has been easy enough, has it not?”  

“Aye, but you will not always be so carefree, brother. We cannot hide forever. You will take the throne one day.”  

“You’re clever and I’m stubborn; we’ll cobble something together.”  

“You have too much to lose in this gambit.”  

Thor shakes his head.  

“You are all that I would miss. Stay. Please." 

Loki huffs.  

“As what? Your consort? Your concubine? Your captive? Your brother?”  

“Yes, no, no, and yes,” Thor says, and Loki laughs and then goes limp in Thor’s arms.  

“You’re mad,” Loki pronounces. “And all this time I thought my mind was lost. Sneaky, brother.”  

“As my king,” Thor tries, and Loki smiles up at him.  

“I never wanted the throne, love. I meant what I said.”  

“What did you want?” Thor whispers.  

“The belief that I could wield it. For you to be worthy of it - ready for it.”  

“I still don’t feel ready.”  

“I suspect that means you are. You understand the weight of it now. It is terrifying, is it not?”  

“Aye,” Thor nods. “What of Jotunheim’s throne?”  

“I am as much a stranger to Jotunheim as she is to me.”  

Thor nods.  

“Stay with me."  

“Thor-“  

“Brother, please," Thor begs, looking a hair’s breadth from tears.  

Loki groans.  

“What if I ruin everything?”   

“We’ll mend it. Or we’ll live long enough to see it mend itself. Stay.”  

“Fine,” Loki sighs. “By all the realms, you are a pest. And you can deal with the consequences, damn you. And if I hear any complaints, so help me, Thor, I’ll swap your nose with your prick.”  

“You’d like that,” Thor whispers. “I could fuck your sweet little hole while I swallowed your cock.”  

Loki laughs.  

“You’d be stuck sniffing your bollocks all day.”  

Thor snorts and throws them both to the bottom of the bath. 

Loki is sitting on the edge of Thor’s bed, carefully pressing his hair with a towel so the curls will dry prettily. If he scrubs them at all he’ll end up with a tangled mess, and he doesn’t want to straighten them with magic because Thor enjoys them. And that’s stupid, probably, but he can’t bring himself to care, which worries him on some purely theoretical level. Thor leans against the table, watching, until Loki tosses the towel to the floor and looks up at him.  

Thor crowds between Loki’s legs and bends to kiss him, pressing forward until Loki is on his back. He beats a hasty retreat - or perhaps it’s an advance - to Loki’s lap. His cock is soft in Thor’s mouth, fur still damp from their bath. He smells sweet and dark, but tastes salty and bright. Warm flesh swells, filling the wet hollow of Thor’s cheek, grazing teeth. He shifts to put his brother in a less perilous position and starts a slow slide with his lips.    

Afterward, Thor sags to the floor, grinning and kissing the pale calves that dangle from his bed until they ascend and abandon him.  

“Get up here,” Loki murmurs, voice wavering.

When Thor obeys, he finds Loki on his belly, peering at him over his shoulder through jet curls, wiggling his behind from side to  side.

“An invitation?” Thor asks.  

“An order,” Loki purrs, eyes grinning.  

Thor gropes around in the sheets looking for the jar of slick, finding it stuck between the mattress and the wall at the head of the bed. He stretches out over Loki and kisses him until Loki starts swaying his hips again as a reminder. Thor chuckles and his lips run along the ridges of his brother’s spine until he comes to its end and scatters his kisses across the twin curves of Loki's ass. The kisses circle closer and closer to the tight bundle of nerves that’s aching for the press of lips, and when they finally arrive, Loki moans and slides his legs apart. Thor works the tight knot of skin with his mouth, licking and lapping until the muscles within and surrounding it have gone slack, and then he glides the smooth length of his tongue inside. Loki is babbling encouragement and sentiment in equal measure - things that sound like worship to Thor’s ears - and, finally, “Brother, please.”  

He coats himself carefully in salve and sinks slowly into soft skin, laying himself over Loki, twining their fingers together where they’re splayed across the sheets. He rolls his hips in tiny circles and Loki sighs.   

"More.”  

Thor hates to deny his brother.  

There is something Thor loves about the way they’re slotted together. Loki can lie still, almost completely relaxed, heart pressed to the soft safety of the bed while Thor’s bulk and breadth guard his back, sheltering him from the endless sky. They barely have to move.   

Thor nips at the nape of a pretty neck as soft curls brush his nose. He mouths a mark over the first bone of the spine and Loki hums and turns his head for a kiss, sucking on Thor’s tongue until Thor’s hips stutter and he spends, chin hooked over a bony shoulder.  

Thor cleans them up and climbs back into bed to watch over his dozing brother. He’s admiring the strength of Loki’s jawline and the slackness of his sleeping mouth when Loki vanishes.


	12. Hlidskjalf

The sheets beside Thor are warm. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Perhaps he awoke as Loki scrambled over him to get out of bed. He rests a moment, hand pressed to the heat still held in the mattress, and listens for the slap of feet on stone, or water running, or the noises of Loki rummaging through his things in search of some elusive oddity.

When none are forthcoming he rises and pulls on his clothes. He wonders if Loki sat down somewhere and accidentally fell asleep. Thor’s stomach growls and it occurs to him his brother must be hungry. The apples and marchpane are on the table, untouched. Perhaps he’s off filching something from the kitchens.   

The bath and lavatory are both empty, and when Thor gets to Loki’s room he finds the same to be true. He checks the balcony and sees the purple light of dusk tinting the clear sky. He turns back inside. Loki’s clothes are folded on the chair. Thor feels sweat break out across his skin and his pulse climbs.   

“Loki?” he calls, but no answer comes.  

He walks out to the hall and finds the door still bolted from the inside. He opens it anyway and descends the stairs even as fear floods his veins. There’s a page stationed not far from the base of the steps.  

“Did my brother pass this way?” Thor asks, trying to master his voice as it threatens to leave him.  

“No, my lord.”    

Thor walks through the winding halls of the palace toward Odin’s golden throne. He doesn’t notice when he begins to run. The doors to Valaskjalf are open when he reaches them and he sees his father seated on Hlidskjalf, looking right at him, waiting for him. The world blurs as his eyes struggle to see through the rising tide of his tears. He blinks them away, but the victory is brief. When he tries to speak it’s as though his throat is a vice, crushing his words.  

“Give him back to me,” Thor rasps.  

“He is not yours,” Odin answers, and Thor’s ears ring.  

His fingers think of Mjolnir, for his father has just lied to his face. It turns his stomach and sets his hair on end.  

“I am his. Send me after him.”  

“No.”  

“Where is he?" Thor whispers, shaking with the tempest of anger and sorrow roiling within him.  

“He is merely lost, and must find his way back. And you must yet learn patience, my son.”  

Thor feels cool air move across the back of his neck and over his heels, calming him. He realizes he is barefoot. His hair is wild. He smells of sweat and his brother’s skin.   

He hears the rustling of silk and a strange little sound, like the secret growling of cats when they hear unwelcome noises. His mother’s hand finds his elbow and somehow her silent request for support gives Thor strength.

“Leave us,” she says, and Odin opens his mouth but remains silent, then nods and takes his leave.  

Frigga ascends the throne, leading Thor to the uppermost stair, and sits, smiling sadly up at her son. He drops to his knees and his shoulders heave with silent sobs as she pets his hair. Soon her skirts are soaked with salty tears.  

When Thor has calmed enough that he is at least breathing evenly, she lifts his chin.  

“You cannot yet take the throne, but if you are not too old to sit on your mother’s lap, I will show your brother to you.”  

Thor clears his throat and huffs.  

“I will flatten you.”  

“I’m stronger than I seem,” she says with a wink, and pats her knees.  

“When I wish to bend the rules to my will, I shall be sure to seek your counsel, Mother.”

She snorts and he shakes his head as he sits on her lap, trying to keep his weight on his heels.  

When he looks up, his brother stands before him, still naked, eyes frantic, cheeks streaked with his weeping. He is heartbroken and furious, but alive. And here. 

"Loki.”

Thor.  

Thor feels the word, and sees it shaped by beloved lips, but its sound never touches his ears. He reaches out to his brother, but Loki’s fingers sail right through his when he tries to return the gesture. Fresh tears flow down their cheeks and into their gaping mouths. They stare at each other until Thor worries for Frigga’s legs.   

“Brother,” Thor breathes, and sees the word mirrored on Loki’s mouth.  

Loki bows low to them both, his hand over his heart, lips trembling.  

Thor winces when he stands, vision gone. Frigga rises and anchors him with steady hands on his shaking shoulders.  

“Sleep, my loves,” she says, and sits to watch them walk back to their hall - her beautiful boys, unmoored and broken. She wants to take Odin’s other eye as payment for his lack of vision.  

……… 

When Loki wakes, he is alone in Thor’s bed, but he can hear his brother walking down the hall. Probably going to peek at his presents, Loki thinks, smiling at the capacity a centuries-old nature god still has for childlike wonder. Never jaded. Ever naive. May he always remain so.  

His body aches in novel ways, but he’s been doing novel things with it, so the pain pleases him. Thor had been quite gentle with him in their last bout, so he reasons these strains were acquired earlier. He feels tender and bruised somewhere inside; swollen and warm. He stretches and starts when he sees a flash of blue pass before his eyes. His skin has shifted. He’s never slipped up like this before. He doesn’t understand how it happened. I could have burned him, Loki realizes with a raw horror.  

“Thor?”

He shifts back into Aesir skin but he still feels strange, as though he’s put his tunic on backward or his shoes on the wrong feet. His hands seem all right, though, so he’ll worry about it later.  

He runs out into the hall and sees Thor striding toward him looking disturbed.  

“Did I hurt you?” Loki asks, surging forward to grab Thor’s arms.   

Loki nearly falls when Thor walks right through him. He staggers and goes still. No no no no no, he thinks. Even Odin could not be so cruel.  

“Thor!” Loki screams, running down the steps to catch up with his brother and again being unable to connect with him.  

Thor asks a page about him.  

“I’m right here,” Loki gasps. 

It’s a nightmare, he reasons. Just a bad dream. I’m even naked. He looks down at himself somewhat awkwardly as he walks, trying to keep up with Thor. And deformed? His penis has retracted to an improbable degree given the warmth of the palace, and his testicles have ascended and stretched. Is that what aches? Can dreams hurt? And he wonders if he’s dreaming of anxieties he didn’t realize he had, dwelling on areas in which he knows himself to be inexperienced. He decides he must be, and sprints after Thor.  

They arrive at the throne, and Loki stands beside and slightly behind his brother. Odin’s eye flickers briefly to Loki’s face. He can see me. Oh, no, no, please, no. Let it be a dream.  

His mother enters the room and walks carefully around him. Growls at the All-Father. Dismisses him from the throne. A wolf with her cubs.  

Not a dream. 

She comforts Thor where he cannot. Her pretty face graces him with a sad smile as she strokes Thor’s hair. Loki looks on, helpless in the grip of the horror his life has become.   

Frigga grants them the farewell they slept through, thinking themselves safe when they were anything but.  Mother. My Queen. 

Lost. That is the name of his prison 

Odin has him like a spider in its web, snared by this spell. And Loki can think of nothing now that will break it. Trapped, with his goal forever in sight. He means to torture me. I should have known. 


	13. Spring

He walks unseen beside his brother back to their hall. Thor holds the door longer than necessary, giving Loki ample time to pass through before locking it. My kindhearted king.

Thor passes by his own door and goes to Loki’s room, crawls into his bed, and silently weeps until he’s unconscious. Loki does the same. They wake late the next day. Loki stares at Thor. Thor stares at the ceiling, grey and wet. Only rain, Loki notes. Thor is sad, but not yet angry.

Loki smells iron and thinks it’s from Thor’s storm until he shifts his legs and feels the skin of his thighs stretch and peel apart. He looks and laughs when he finds crusted blood between his legs. I had better be bleeding to death, he thinks and yawns. They go back to sleep and stay there for a week.  

They wake to the sound of gentle knocking on the door to their hall. Thor rolls over slowly, right through Loki, on his way to sit at the edge of the bed.   

“Coming,” he croaks, before clearing his throat and trying again. He looks down at his disheveled clothes and sighs. Loki looks at the black pool of dried blood on the bed and the rusty smears on his legs. That’s quite a lot of blood, he thinks absently. And it smells strange. Perhaps I really am dying. He hurries down the hall after Thor.  

“My prince,” chime two soft voices, and Thor opens the door wide, relieved to find only children on the other side, and not his father’s angry eye.  

“Elif, Astrid, hello.”  

Loki peeks over Thor’s shoulder. Safety in numbers, he thinks. Probably wise.

“Your mother wishes to dine with you at sunset, my lord,” Astrid says, and adds, “Which is in one hour.”  

Thor grunts in surprise and nods.  

“I will be there. Give her my thanks.”  

Astrid nods and sets off to give his answer to Frigga.  

“Do you need anything my lord?” Elif asks.  

“A piece of ice, about the size of my hand, if you can get it. But don’t trouble yourself if it’s tricky,” Thor says.   

Thor leaves the door unlocked and heads to the bath. When he is shut inside, he stands staring at the pool as though it has wronged him. He finally shrugs off his clothes, sets the water running, and stands under the spray, bathing as they do in Midgard. Loki joins him. He gingerly washes the warped and soiled skin between his legs, unwilling to focus his attention on it and still coming away with more knowledge than he wanted.  

When they climb out, Thor wraps a towel around himself and stands, staring at nothing, while his hair drips onto his shoulders. Loki reaches for a towel, relieved by the weight of it when it fills his hand, and whips it at Thor. But it, too, sails through his brother’s body, sucked into Loki’s curse. When Loki looks back he sees the towel he grabbed, still on the shelf, and its doomed double hanging in his hand.  

He screams.    

He follows Thor into his own room, and watches him wrap a piece of ice in cloth and press it to his swollen face, taking deep, measured breaths, trying to calm himself down. Loki can hear thunder groaning in the distance. Thor dresses and leaves and Loki follows, wrapping the towel around his hips and keeping close to his brother, afraid to be separated from him any further.  

His fears are well founded.  

When they arrive at Frigga’s rooms, her threshold spell blocks him.   

Thor knocks and his mother greets him by name and tells him to enter. Loki is left to pace the hall.

She has tea, rolls, and fruit for their meal and Thor is relieved; she isn’t really expecting him to eat. His stomach has been in knots ever since he opened his eyes. They sit together on her couch.  

“How do you fare, my Queen?” Thor whispers.

She tucks his hair behind his ear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, and Thor crumples inward, head in his hands.  

She rubs his back and shushes him gently.  

“Hush, child, all will be well.”  

Thor shakes his head.   

“No, Mother,” Thor chokes. “I fear he means to fail. Before he left, he was saying he would remain in the spell.”  

Frigga laughs and Thor looks up, wounded. She strokes his cheek to soothe his temper.  

“Shhh. I mean no harm, love. But, even if your fear is well founded, tell me, when have Loki’s plans ever fully succeeded?”  

Thor wants to be offended on his brother’s behalf, but Frigga speaks the truth.

“He is the god of mischief,” she reminds him, “and he is not immune to his own influence, though he has yet to notice. He will run from his heart for as long as his legs will carry him, and it will still be there beating in his chest. He can’t escape. You won’t lose him. Have patience with him as you would with any rare and wild thing.”  

When they return, Thor and Loki find Sif sitting on the stairs to their hall. Thor drops down next to her while Loki watches. She hands Thor a message.  

“Elif had this for you, but I promised him I’d deliver it and sent him to bed.”  

Thor opens it. He is to begin studying seidr tomorrow morning with Halldis.  

“Thank you.”  

“Thor, what happened?”  

Loki watches Thor try, and fail, to hold back his tears. Sif throws her arm around him and he grips her hand where it rests on his shoulder while he regains his composure.  

“Father banished him.”  

“Where?”  

Thor shakes his head and draws a shuddering breath.  

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”  

“What does that mean?” she asks.  

“I believe he is right here beside us, but we cannot see him, and he cannot reach us.”  

“Norns,”  she whispers.  

Thor nods his agreement.  

“How was he this last week?”  

“He was-“   

But that’s as far as Thor gets before his throat tightens and he shakes his head.  

Perfect, Loki thinks. I was perfect. 

Sif invites him to spar tomorrow afternoon and he accepts, thanking her for coming to see him. 

It storms through much of the night. Thor has trouble finding sleep. When he does, it is fitful. Loki watches him twisting in the tall bed until the night is half over. Thor huffs at himself, walks down the hall to Loki’s room, and falls asleep in his brother’s low nest of a bed almost instantly. Loki curls up beside him and nods off, lulled by Thor’s breathing and the scent of their skin.   

The first thing Halldis does when she sees Thor is to score his forearm with a tiny knife. He gapes at her.   

“Pay close attention to the way it feels as it’s healing,” she instructs, and Thor could swear she’s smirking.  

Thor sits down, scowling, but does as he’s told

Loki would kiss her if he could. Thor is completely distracted from his sulking. When Loki listens for thunder, he hears none. 

Thor finds all of his friends waiting for him in the practice arena, the familiar scent of the loose earth and hay that covers the ground is a comfort to him. Volstagg hoists Thor up into a hug in greeting and merely offers, “We missed you,” in explanation. Thor claps his friend’s hefty shoulders and smiles his thanks.  

Thor spars with Sif, which is typical, but the bout is over quite quickly, which is not. Thor is merely defending himself, but never  goes on the offensive. Sif lands a touch to his belly with little difficulty.

“Thor,” she scolds.  

“Sorry,” he says.   

Loki gets a sinking feeling.

That night, Thor opens the chests in Loki’s room, looking at his gifts. The magical objects perplex him but he stares at them for well over an hour, wondering what led his brother to want them and what lengths he had to go to to get them.   

Loki often disappeared for weeks or even months at a time, especially in the last century. Thor hates himself for failing to ask Loki the details of his hunts. Thor was always one to volunteer a story in vivid detail. He had assumed that if Loki wanted to brag of his achievements, he would do so. But now Thor knows better. Loki would have told him if he’d asked the right questions. Thor wonders if his failure to enquire means that he would have failed to listen, too. He fears the answer. In the last few years, Loki got up and left the room any time Thor showed signs of having something lengthy to say. Thor became terse to keep Loki in his company. Still, he never asked after his brother in any depth. I failed you, Thor thinks, and closes the chest lest he spoil the scrolls with tears.

Loki isn’t sure why a box of strange objects and spells has his brother so upset. He wishes he’d given these things to Frigga and asked her to deliver them to Thor when he was ready.  

Thor sobs noisily when he opens the second chest. Loki is expecting that. He is not expecting that it will be so contagious. He slumps, sniffling, by his brother’s side as Thor pores over the drawings and sketches, touches the jewelry and objects with delicate reverence, and sits, reading the book of bedtime stories until they both fall asleep on the floor.  

They wake to stiffened limbs and the knocking of a page. 

They slip into a routine. Loki practices his healing skills alongside Thor, glad at the chance to study with Halldis. After a few  weeks, Elif joins the lessons, already being more advanced than the prince. 

Loki uses the time his brother spends sparring to practice his own magic and explore the confines of Odin’s cage.   

Loki’s seidr is unlimited, but it is of no use without something to act on. He must drag objects into his banishment with him, and then they are stuck there until he destroys them, which he most often does. He is able to eat and drink. That almost surprises him.  Odin is allowing me to prolong my punishment, Loki thinks. Perhaps it is not so unexpected after all. 

The spells that snare him are quite simple. It would be laughable were it not so insulting. And excruciating. There is a cloaking spell, hiding him from the sight of all eyes. He had used it often on himself, but he never imagined it being used against him. There is a spell of dissolution, forcing him to dissolve when he tries to touch any living thing. And there is a spell of replication, copying any inanimate object Loki comes into contact with, leaving the original untouched, or, in the case of doors, opening the original, and putting a temporary illusion in its place. The cloaking and dissolution are instantly applied to the things Loki picks up, but he often throws them at the All-Father anyway, as the act itself is deeply satisfying.   

The strands of the spell are tied with a curse, which functions much as a lock would. But Loki doesn’t know what this lock looks like, nor where to seek its key. And part of him is afraid to find out. 

Thor feels hopeless and alone for the second time in his life. Small. His friends worry, but he is far from their lives. He can’t bring himself to tell them exactly why he has changed. He can’t afford to lose them, too, and he is uncertain of what they would make of the mess he’s in. He can’t quite admit that he is broken, failing, falling. It would be real, then. Worse, somehow.  

And he feels selfish; it is Loki who is being punished, he believes he has no right to aid or pity. But he aches no less. And he is lonely beyond bearing. He misses the easy understanding born of centuries lived side by side. The quiet sounds of breathing and shifting limbs beside him. The musical purr of his brother’s voice. The taste of him.  

Loki looks on helplessly as his brother struggles and sinks. Thor eats next to nothing. He sleeps unevenly; some nights he never shuts his eyes at all, some days he passes out at noon and doesn’t wake until dawn. He grows pale and loses weight. He stops sparring and spends the extra time lying in Loki’s bed, sometimes dozing or reading, but more often just sobbing quietly at the ceiling. And no one catches it. Thor hides it with thin smiles and thick clothes. Badly, Loki assesses. It’s so obvious. How can they not see it?  

He kneads bread in the kitchens late on sleepless nights, finding peace in the scents and textures. Bergljot comes in early one morning and finds him there. She tuts at his hollow cheeks and puts a hand to his side, feeling ribs. She points him to a seat and sets a plate of cookies in his hand.  

“Quit sulking and eat up, lad, or there won’t be anything left for him to come home to.”   

Thor kisses her hand when he leaves. He doesn’t go back again.

Loki rages. He hurls every curse he can think of at Odin, but they all go unheard. Or at least ignored. Loki even attempts it when Odin sits on the throne, and he knows the one-eyed god can see him, but Odin pays him no heed. Frigga has been in her rooms, seeing no one. Loki can’t reach her to beg her to help Thor, and Thor never seeks her out.  

Thor nearly disappears in the bed at night, skin as pale as the sheets. He looks like me now, Loki realizes with a start. We look like brothers.  

And Loki is faring no better. He feels empty. Diminished. Like the blue has gone from his eyes, the sun from his skin, the flesh from his bones. His own appearance makes sense to him at last; he is the absence of Thor. 

Spring ripens to bursting around them, blanketing Asgard in perfume and petals. The promise of green. The storm in Thor calms, and he spends a warm dry day on his back in an orchard, smiling up at the birds and butterflies. He looks happier than he has in  months. After the world around him has fallen asleep, he walks through gardens and fields, pausing to smell lilacs whenever he passes them, skirting the edge of the city. 

He strolls slowly up the rainbow bridge, Loki invisible at his side, until he is nearly at the orb. They stare off into the streaks of color and dots of light that puncture the void of space. It calms the beast that paces in Loki’s breast. His troubles feel small and short-lived in the vast and indifferent company of the stars. Perhaps the same sense of peace is what pulled his brother here tonight.   

Thor’s hair is gold against the night sky, and he wears an emerald tunic. My colors, Loki thinks.

Thor takes a deep breath, leans forward, and falls. The water pulls him under and rushes him over the edge of the seabed, spitting him out into darkness. He drops until Asgard’s gravity lets go of him and he drifts softly into space. 

Loki stands and gapes, stunned for half a second, and then follows his brother. 

He’s not sure why he jumped. It isn’t as though Thor can see him or there’s anything he can actually do. He had no plan beyond obeying the shrieks of, Stay with him! that flooded his addled brain, in his own panicked voice. He hopes to all he holds holy that Thor has his stupid hammer tied to his belt: it would mean he planned to use it. She could ferry him home. Loki’s heart breaks like a rotten stick when he checks and sees only too much leather holding too much linen to too little hip. He has no idea how far Thor’s call to Mjolnir can carry, but he’s quite certain Thor has no intention of finding out.   

We’re lost, Loki mourns. He thinks Thor should be more worried, but when he looks he sees that the pretty creature is sleeping.   

He’s gone to sleep like bloody Odin, Loki realizes, and the vacuum around him swallows his laughter. He’s escaping into dreams, Loki muses. Clever thing. Loki shifts into his Jotnar skin to keep the chill from being a nuisance. Thor generates heat like a small blond sun, so he's immune.  

Thor almost appears to be under water, hair floating around him, limbs loose, fingers curled. As fair as ever. Loki will watch this beauty burn until his vision fails him and Thor fades from sight. He grieves for all the eyes that will never see his brother’s face, and for all those that will never see it again, and for the years that this loveliness will go to waste on the unseeing skies. The glowing golden son of Asgard, and its cold pale moonchild, reflecting that light with eyes that exist only for Thor.  

This serves me right, Loki thinks, bitterly. One ill turn deserves another. And I was practically asking for it. Still. Bloody wretched Norns. I’ll eat their beating hearts.  

Asgard is slowly shrinking from sight, Loki closes his eyes. 

When he finally opens them again, he isn’t certain how much time has passed. Even if he had remained awake, it’s a hopeless task; there are no days or nights here. No up or down. Only stars, and cold, and silence. The bruised ache in the pit of his groin is back and he sees blood darkening his leggings. Wonderful, he sighs, rubbing at his belly and drifting into uneasy dreams. 

He wakes with a start from a strange vision. Or memory. Heimdall’s omniscient amber gaze, burning through the blue frost of his icy prison.  

The Bifrost, he remembers with a rush of blood through his frozen veins. It is mine now, and will always mind its maker.  

He takes a long look at his brother, closes his eyes, and calls to the orb. 

When he peeks through his lashes they let in the glow of gold. His ears buzz with the notes of a familiar voice.  

“Odinson,” Heimdall says, slow as syrup, and Loki could kiss him.

“You are beyond the realms,” Loki marvels. “I may have need of you.” 

And Loki turns to face his North; every cell in his body a compass that points ever and only to Thor.  

“Thor Vermundr Ari Odinson!” Loki shouts, and it’s nearly a squeal, he’s so excited.  

A hole grows in the wall of the orb as a sleeping god of thunder slides through it and onto the floor.   

Loki shifts back into warm Aesir skin and runs to grab Thor, cursing when his hands grip nothing but air. He looks to Heimdall, who pays him no mind.  

“Sorry, Gatekeeper,” Loki murmurs, and Heimdall eyes him warily, scowling. Loki taps his shoulder and nearly groans with pleasure when his finger connects with gold. He murmurs a spell and steps into the guardian’s form, walking over to scoop Thor up from the ground, shaking him gently.  

Thor wakes to Heimdall’s voice calling him brother and begging him to wake up. At first he thinks he’s dreaming. But he’s never felt dehydrated in a dream before. Thor hangs from Heimdall’s shoulders and is confused when the normally reliable god begins talking to his brother.  

“Do not do that again, Trickster,” Heimdall warns.

“Oh, I won’t,” Loki says, and kisses Heimdall’s nose and the armor over his cheek, staring all the while at Thor. “Keep him up on his feet for me, please.”  

“Can you see my brother?” Thor asks, voice all but gone with dryness and disuse.  

“Yes,” Heimdall tells him.  

“Can you hear him?”  

“Yes.”  

“What does he say?” Thor asks, unconcerned by the desperation evident in his tone.  

“Can you walk?”  

“Aye,” Thor answers.  

“He wishes for you to approach the surface of the sphere.”  

Thor does as Loki has indirectly asked, wobbling toward the wall. 

“He says, ‘look at it closely.’”   

The sculpted surface of the dome twists before Thor’s eyes.  

Brother, it reads, in rippling letters.  

"Loki?” Thor whispers.  

Are you all right?

“Aye, love.”  

Go to Halldis, the kitchens, our bath, and my bed. I will be by your side all the while.   

“Not yet, please,” Thor begs.  

All right. But very soon.   

“Loki,” Thor murmurs.  

Peach, Loki writes, and Thor smiles and sighs.  

“Cow.”  

Darling.  

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispers.  

Don’t be. Rest, love. You are weary. I shall follow you back here as soon as you are well.  

Thor nods.

Goodnight.  

“Goodnight.” 

Loki uses the Bifrost to send both he and Thor straight to Halldis. He helps himself to herbs and unguents and realizes he’s been wandering around in front of Heimdall unwashed, with wild hair and blood all over his leggings. He’s too happy to care. Halldis looks up from her workbench and huffs at Thor, but says nothing. She’s a treasure, Loki thinks.  

She mixes dried herbs with water and has Thor drink them, hands him a jar of the same unguent Loki stole, and sends him off to fill his belly, forbidding wine and insisting upon water.  

By whatever good luck is left to them, they catch the kitchens between mealtimes and have the dining hall largely to themselves. They feast sluggishly, but thoroughly, and rest at the table, sipping cool water for a long time after their breakfast is done.    

Thor is cautious on his way back to their hall, avoiding the attention of guards, aided by the spell Loki cast on him in their last  hours together - he doesn’t make a sound. In the bath, Loki stands behind his brother under the spray, bits of his front dissolving as Thor moves through him. The way the water feels as it beats down on their skin is so welcome they both moan long and low, remaining under the spout until their shoulders are pink. Afterward, they dry off and smear salve over their skin until they're shining. Loki follows Thor out onto the balcony where they sit on their bench and breathe in the heady green scent of the warm season.


	14. Summer

In the morning, Thor fills a small sack with paper, quills, and a pot of ink, takes up his hammer, and flies from the balcony to the Bifrost. Loki grins and calls to his creation, arriving within the dome a full minute before Thor.

Thor sits cross-legged by the wall and sets himself up to write, hunched over on the floor like a boy.

You should be resting, Loki writes.  

Thor smiles.  

I could not.  

Are you all right? Loki asks.  

Aye. 

You look much better than you have these last months.  

Can you forgive me?  Thor writes.

There is nothing to forgive. It is I who should apologize. I have failed you. I’m sorry, brother. I haven’t broken the spell. Nor have I tried to do so. I have done little more than follow you all this time.  

Did you jump? Thor asks, letters small, quill held tight in his fingers.  

Yes.  

Thor curses and hangs his head. 

It’s much easier the second time, Loki jokes, and Thor attempts a disapproving huff, but the effect is spoiled by his smirk.  

I’m going to try something, Loki writes in the wall. Go wait by Heimdall.  

Thor hops to his feet and approaches the guardian, who stands on his platform.  

Loki picks up the paper, ink, and quill his brother brought, producing duplicates as he does so. He scribbles a quick note and climbs to his feet. 

“Could I trouble you to pass this to my brother, Gatekeeper?” Loki asks.  

Heimdall doesn’t tear his gaze from the realms, but he lifts his hand from the hilt of his sword and offers it, palm up, to Loki.   

“Thank you,” Loki breathes, and sets the paper into the waiting hand.

Thor’s eyes widen when the note appears, and he grins at the familiar curves of his brother’s handwriting.  

If you can read this, try to pick it up, and to write on it, and to pass it back to me through Heimdall.

Thor follows Loki’s instructions, folding the paper once and setting it back in Heimdall’s still-waiting hand.  

Loki holds his breath and reaches for the missive. He shouts his joy when he picks it up and it leaves no twin resting in Heimdall’s hand.        

May I have a strand of your hair? it reads, in Thor’s crisp penmanship.  

Let’s find out, Loki writes, plucking one from his head and laying it in the fold of the paper.  

Thor can see the ends of the strand sticking out at each side when the note reappears in Heimdall’s grip. He twines the hair around his fourth finger, tying it off carefully.  

What shall we do today, brother? Thor writes, beaming.  

Loki’s scribbles his response so swiftly that the ink sprays and spatters from the ends of straight strokes. He nearly slaps the paper into Heimdall’s hand.  

Go to our hall. Have a page fetch all the food you can bear to eat. Lock the door. Speak - I’ll hear you. Dine with me. Drink plenty of water. Take a long bath. Tend to your skin. Make love to yourself for me. Drink more water. Sleep late. Order an enormous breakfast. Have some water. I’ll be with you all the while. Meet back here tomorrow.

Thor reads it and makes a noise that sticks in his throat halfway through, then laughs. He nods and slips through the wall of the orb, sliding the paper into his pocket and spinning Mjolnir.  

Loki is waiting for him when he gets back to their balcony, and Thor follows his instructions, requesting supper from a surprised page.

When the food arrives, Thor sets it on the table in Loki’s room and Loki picks it up again, making his own dinner. They eat slowly, feeling calm and settled in a way they haven’t since they were parted. Their frayed nerves are cautiously knitting themselves back together now that the brothers have been restored to each other, however marginally.  

Thor fills the bath for the first time since Loki vanished. He’s been using it as a shower all these months, and Loki has had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it enabled him to look at Thor very clearly while he bathed, but on the other, Thor was never as relaxed afterward.   

“Join me, brother, if you haven’t already,” Thor says, floating on his back.  

Loki drops his clothes to the floor and steps down into the pool. Thor sees movement in the corner of his eye and stands, squinting at the steps. Loki gasps when Thor successfully uses seidr to call more light to the torches. He had been practicing with Odin for the last month before they jumped off the bridge, but Thor had never succeeded so easily under his father’s gaze.   

“Brother?” Thor whispers. “Step out of the pool, if you are in it, and then back in on the count of three. One… Two… Three.”  

Thor watches the water with sharp eyes. There are two holes in it. They swell and spread to one as it approaches him. He sees the level of the bath rise along the wall of the pool.  

“I can see the hole you leave in the water,” Thor whispers.  

Loki is giddy, though embarrassed that these loopholes never occurred to him. The water is not alive, nor is it inanimate, and it seems Odin’s spell cannot grip it in a large body like this. Loki has not picked it up, therefore it doesn’t double. He tests this by cupping some in his hand and holding it before Thor’s face. It goes unnoticed. But, when he merely sinks into the liquid, it parts around him. He slides slowly into the bath so that Thor can see his silhouette, hoping his brother will catch on to what he wants to do.  

Thor sees the gap spread as Loki’s shoulders sink in and then narrow to the stem of his neck before opening up into an oval and whittling away to nothing. Thor drops under the water and opens his eyes, calling white lights to his palms and holding them by his sides.   

And then he shouts, the sound bubbling out of his mouth and leaving a grin in its wake.   

He can see the outline of Loki’s face, smiling, right before his own. When Loki tries to touch him it leaves dry pockets of air on Thor’s skin, and he can feel the shift in texture. 

They stay in the bath until the water grows cold.  

“Come on,” Thor sighs after he surfaces. “I’m under orders.” 

They smirk and climb out of the pool, toweling off hastily before sprinting to Loki’s room. 

Thor leaps into the bed and grabs the bottle where it still rests under Loki’s pillow. He makes a mess of himself, and then makes the most of it, rubbing the spilled oil slowly into his thirsty skin. He takes a steadying breath and forces himself to focus. He wants to give Loki something worth looking at.  

He stretches out on his back in the center of the bed and props his head up with a pillow. The sheets are bunched up under his legs and he kicks them down. He’s never felt more naked in his life. He knows Loki can see him, but he can’t see Loki’s reaction, which leaves him feeling weirdly disadvantaged.   

“Loki? Are you with me, brother?”

Thor’s tone makes Loki’s heart twist. He’s never sounded so small.  

“Can you sit astride me? Or crouch above me? Lie beside me, perhaps?”  

Loki opts to hover over Thor on all fours, watching his face.  

Thor has his eyes closed. It makes it easier to forget that he can’t see his brother. He runs the fingers of his right hand over his neck, following muscles from joint to joint, pressing into the gaps to feel his pulse. His left hand is tracing the muscles and bones of his breast, skimming the tip of his longest finger over the tender skin of his nipples at random intervals. He touches his lips and cups his own jaw.  

Lovely, Loki thinks.

He looks down and sees Thor’s cock, rolling slightly on his belly as it fills with blood. His own is peeking out of its nest of fur and flesh. Since his banishment, it behaves almost all the time as though he is in frigid water, burrowing into his groin to sleep, leaving only the very tip exposed. In the morning it stands up to greet him, as it ever has. Other than that, it seems smoother and slightly redder. It’s actually quite convenient. He never bumps it into anything anymore, or chafes it on his leggings. His testicles are far more worrying to him. They are perfectly symmetrical, and shaped more like ash tree leaflets - long and parallel, tapered at the ends, but still quite full at their centers. They, too have receded. His scrotum (if he still has one  - he can’t be certain) is tight and smooth. The seam in its center is deep and pronounced. And frequently sticky, which he finds vexing. Though, again, he must admit that he is now much less prone to injury… apart from the aching and bleeding, which he won’t think about right now.

Thor moans and Loki’s eyes snap to his face, lingering on parted lips before checking up on Thor’s hands. They’re splayed over his belly and sliding down over the unusually-prominent bones of his hips. The tips of his fingers graze his navel and drag over the hair that gathers below it, making a pleasant scraping sound and sending the scent of Thor’s skin up into the air. His hands grips his hips and slide down the outsides of his thighs, then up the insides, through the joints, parting his legs slightly as he goes. Fingers settle like a net around his cock and over his balls. Loki’s head is almost upside down as he watches.   

Thor is surprisingly careful with himself. Loki is glad at that. Thor deserves something like tenderness. Gentleness after the cold neglect of the stars. Loki would give it to him, if he could, and is grateful his brother is picking up the slack for him.

Thor coaxes his foreskin down in teasing increments, tracing and circling it. He draws the curves of the head with his fingertips - the ridge on the top and the V at the bottom - smearing the clear fluid beading at the slit. His left hand pets his balls almost affectionately, and Loki huffs a tiny laugh, the sweetness of Thor’s touch sending joy through his lungs.  

This delicious display continues for many minutes, and its effect is nearly hypnotic. Then Thor makes a fist and arches up into it.  

"Loki."  

Loki startles slightly when he hears his name and sees Thor’s pretty cock sliding through strong fingers.   

Thor’s hand remains still while his hips keep lifting.  

“Brother, you feel so good.”

Loki whines a little when he realizes Thor is pretending to fuck him. He’d give all that he has to be able to sink down onto the firm body beneath him and grant his brother’s every wish.   

Warmth blooms between Loki’s legs. Delicious, he thinks. I have missed this. His cock is heavy and leaking. Sadly, the spilled fluid passes through Thor and lands on the version of the bed that lives in Loki's cursed world. Though, perhaps it’s for the best, he thinks.  There is rather a lot of it today. Loki feels dampness on the base of his cock and lifts a hand to investigate it. His fingers come away slick, threads of clear fluid spanning the gap between his hand and his prick. He spreads the wetness over his skin and strokes it experimentally.   

Not bad.   

He gathers more and does it again, a bit harder.   

Rather good. 

The heat he normally feels in his cock has spread through his balls and deep into his belly. Thor moans his name again and Loki strokes himself while he watches his brother do the same.   

More of the liquid pulses out of Loki. He smears it over his balls, brushing the little vent at the base of his cock as he does  so. And, Norns, that feels good. 

He has been thinking of it as a gland. That’s as far as he’ll let language go with it. Some part of him knows it’s a lie, but the centuries’ worth of whispers - ergi, argr, deviant, pervert, freak, rata, warlock, witch, arka, sneak - make it hard to yearn for truth. He’s willing to allow himself the luxury of blissful ignorance in the wasteland of his banishment. His own form is foreign to him. It has been lying to him on his father’s instructions for all his long life. When he was attending Thor’s sparring sessions he tried to shift his shape back with seidr; the pain was so great it stopped him. His skin is all right though; he hasn’t inadvertently shifted from Aesir to Jotnar again.  

Loki’s long fingers trail through the cleft and over the slit, gliding up the base of his cock and over the tip, and then reverse, and Oh fuck, that’s perfect. His hand moves in long strokes, fingers brushing every sweet spot with each pass, flesh full and wet and burning.   

Thor’s strokes are getting a bit frantic beneath him. He’s chanting Loki’s name and bucking his hips. Loki watches, slowing his own motions to enjoy the sight of Thor, lost in the pleasure of his skin, spilling onto his belly and swiftly falling asleep, mouth soft, breath slowing. Goodnight, darling. Rest. You deserve it.  

Loki picks up his pace to one that seems absurd, but feels fantastic. He’s slippery enough to get away with it, so he keeps going. He spends with a shout, cock spurting and balls shuddering. But there’s more. The gland is shaking, too - clenching within him. And it’s still leaking and tight with tension. Well then.  

Loki flops onto his back beside Thor and thinks a moment. He doesn’t want to do something stupid when he can’t get to a healer. If it hurts, I’ll stop, he decides. Perfectly reasonable. He can’t ignore the promise of pleasure that’s practically singing from between his legs.  

He spreads his thighs wide, knees in the air, toes curling in the sheets. Thor is a comfort beside him, warm and beautiful, breathing quietly, smelling like sex and rain. His hair is so long. Blond waves run like rills over his head and onto the pillow. It makes him look fragile, somehow - neglected, perhaps, or half drowned. Loki wants to give him a chaste goodnight kiss and tuck the sheet under his chin.   

He swirls his fingers over his skin, arching into the touch when they near the base of his cock. His flesh feels swollen, the way his cock feels when it’s hard… which it isn’t right now, but it’s not exactly soft either. The head is a bit farther out than is now normal.  Bloody thing better not be stuck, he thinks. It feels good, though, he notes. Surely that bodes well. And the position is convenient; he can reach the most responsive bits of his skin with the barest flick of his wrist. 

He rubs the head of his cock carefully and finds it isn’t averse to touch the way it usually is after he has spilled. Here’s to pleasant surprises. He keeps his right hand moving smoothly over it and takes a deep breath. His left hand floats between his legs, hesitating briefly. Right. Here goes. His longest finger reaches forward and he lets the fleshy pad at its tip graze the mouth of the gland, slowly circling it. He hums. His finger presses in a fraction and the skin yields. His cock jerks. He presses further. Another jump from his prick. 

He keeps at it, circling and pressing in gently, and soon his palm is flat against his groin, finger gone inside him. The skin surrounding the buried digit is slick and spongy, and the front wall is wonderfully sensitive. His cock is full again and he can feel it responding to the motions of his other hand. He gingerly withdraws his finger and repeats the process with two. The stretch is nothing unpleasant, and the pressure is welcome. His prick certainly appreciates it. He leaves his fingers sheathed while he strokes his cock with his right hand, and Ohmybloodyfuckingbeautifulbrother that feels good.  

“Thor,” he pants softly, fingers working his flesh inside and out.  

He feels like a bow string being drawn tighter and tighter. He straightens his legs out on the bed, calves tense and toes pointing. Cants his hips toward his stomach. His whole body strains toward release. It comes in waves that flex every muscle in his form and rip Thor’s name from his throat again and again. His skin twitches in his tired hands. He can’t decide if he wants to doze or do it again. He’s fairly certain he could manage either.  

Thor mumbles in his sleep and Loki rolls over to look at him. His fingers itch to thread through all those blond waves. He’s grateful he can still feel the warmth radiating from Thor’s body and can catch the unmistakable scent of him. But it isn’t enough. He wants Thor’s legs wrapped around him while he slides under his skin. Thor’s eyes struggling to focus on him as orgasm nears. Thor’s teeth at his neck and his hands on his hips. Thor’s taste on his tongue and his seed on his lips. Thor boneless and dreaming, limbs tangled with his.   

And he wants Thor happy. And furious. Sad. Baffled. Excited. Even frightened. Anything but hopeless. He doesn’t know how long this fragment of connection they’ve found can sustain them. He doesn’t want to find out.

Loki heaves himself out of bed, gets cleaned up, and shrugs on a robe. He feels tired, but calm. He collects ink, a quill, and a sheet of paper and sits down at his table.  

In the morning, Thor sends for breakfast. They dress and eat quickly, both of them eager to see Heimdall. Thor packs his writing implements and takes off with Mjolnir. Loki laughs and calls to the Bifrost.   

“Odinsons,” Heimdall says, and Thor smiles.  

“Greetings, Gatekeeper,” Loki answers. “Would you be so kind as to pass this to my brother?”  

Heimdall holds out his hand and Loki sets the note in it.   

Thor grins when the paper appears and takes it from Heimdall’s palm, thanking him. He makes a pleased little noise at how many pages there are and sits down on the floor to read them. 

Brother,  

Thank you, darling. It was wonderful to see you like that. I was above you at the time and beside you afterward. 

I’m sorry, love. I promise you, I shan’t rest until this wretched spell is broken. But I know not where to begin. I’m meant to learn something of myself, or pursue some joy that eludes me. Or both. Odin was rather vague, I’m afraid. He did suggest that whatever I learn must not be kept secret. So this letter will be my first attempt at undoing the curse. Here: my confidences. And my apologies, for many of them are jagged and ugly, but if they bring me back to you it may lend them some grace.

I want to:  

Pluck out Odin All-Father’s other eye. Punish him for this. For wounding you.

Slip into my Jotun skin and leave burns the shape of my hand on everyone who crosses me.  

Dance with you.  

Spar with your friend Rogers again. I find his distaste for me irresistible.  

Spar with you until one of us yields.  

Carve Yggdrasil into your skin with one of my sharpest and prettiest knives and then watch you unmake the realms as you heal.   

Acquire a Thor-sized glass vessel, fill it with honey, and keep you suspended in it. I would get impatient long before you needed air, and when I finally released you from this liquid gilded cage, I would lick you clean as thoroughly and shamelessly as a wolf does her pups.  

Die a good death in your arms at the end of a glorious battle. You would be bursting with pride and love and heartbreak for me, and the last thing I ever saw would be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  

Make the realms watch as I lick your lovely little hole until you’re begging for my cock. Let them look on as you’re loving me. Or, keep our sex hidden from all eyes until The Tree falls. I can’t decide.

Swap drops of blood. I want to taste yours.  

Outlive everyone with you by my side and call all the realms our own. Claim you as my king and kiss the crown on your head.  

Brother, burn these pages. It is a strain to part with these pieces of me. For there are other things. So many. I could fill the rest of my days confiding them to you. And some of them are pink, delicate things. I’ve kept them safe beneath the permafrost of this heart. They have never seen the light of day, though I have feared and hoped with equal measure that they would. I’m certain no one could suspect me of harboring them. I’ve been so careful. Sentiment, my love. Strength in weakness.

Those flights. When I stood on your foot, arms around your neck, while you held onto my waist with your left arm and swung Mjolnir with your right, rushing us through the sky like the wind itself. I have never known such unbridled, chaste, exhilarated joy.  

The way you look at me like I’m worth my title - worth the trouble. How you can never quite disguise your happiness at seeing me, even when I don’t deserve it.  

When we went on hunts as young men and camped together in your tent, I always waited until you were sleeping and slid closer to you. In the morning your arm would be around me. I would smile to myself for weeks afterward at the thought of it.  

I want to ruin you with pleasure.  

I think you more beautiful than any in all the realms. More fair of face, and of finer limbs, than even Freyja. I would give you her crown and court were they mine to bestow.

I want you to be ruthless with me. And I want to be rather rough with you. We’ll heal.  

There is no part of you that I do not want.  

When I was a boy and thought about the future, I envisioned us married. We would kiss each other on the cheek and sleep side by side. Hold hands and walk through Asgard’s halls (that's what my child's mind thought marriage entailed).  

I have no close friends, apart from you, and I have never minded it.   

I’ve always been overly fond of swimming because it was an easy way to have you happy and naked and all to myself without relying on our bath.  

I care little for things that lack fur and feathers. You are the exception. Were it not for you, I would have left for the wilds long ago.  

I find it difficult, especially now, to regret the things I’ve done, for they brought me to you, though the path was twisted.  

Still, I wish I had been brave enough in our youth to tell you how wildly I love you. Perhaps we would have been sharing our bodies and beds all these centuries.  

I’d rather you didn’t die. Ever. And that’s cruel, and cowardly. And true.  

I won’t trick you with a double again. If the day came when you didn’t fall for it, I fear my heart would break. But that trap can’t spring if I don’t set it.   

You’ve never been squeamish, and that has always delighted me, though I’ve often teased you for it. You are fearless in bed; the body holds no horror for you. It’s wonderful. All of my senses are screaming for you now. I feel beyond bereft.  

I don’t belong to any realm, nor do I wish to. I belong to my brother, and that is much. More than enough.  

I know not what I am, beyond that I am yours. I fear this may be where the knot that binds me lies.

Help me come home to you. Share any insight you have, however slight you might think it. 

Moo, 

Cow 

Thor looks up to see if his brother has been freed by these confessions. But, no, he is still alone.  

“I am not burning this,” Thor says. “And I like it when you trick me with your twins.”  

Loki laughs.  

Thor leans back against the cool wall of the gold dome and sighs. He takes out a quill, paper, and ink and writes something with what looks like reluctance. He stands and hands his note to Heimdall. Loki takes it and reads.  

I think you’re going to have to leave Asgard to break the spell.  

Jotunheim. The word, though unwritten, weighs heavily on their minds.  

Loki sighs and scribbles at the bottom. Thor takes the note back.  

I know.  

When will you set out? Thor writes.  

Once you’ve learned to use the Bifrost properly, Loki replies.  

“And how do I do that?” Thor asks aloud.  

“Heimdall, will you teach this foolish prince the workings of his own kingdom?” Loki asks.  

“Aye,” Heimdall answers.  

“Thank you. I’m going to go to my room. Have Thor summon me here.”  

Thor sees a hole open in the Bifrost and grunts.  

“Call your brother’s name and picture him before you, Odinson.”  

Thor raises his eyebrows and then takes a steadying breath.

“Loki Gudleifr Runi Odinson!” Thor nearly shouts, grin audible, eyes closed to better see his brother’s face.  

He opens them and catches a pool of darkness shrinking to nothing in the wall of the Bifrost. He turns to Heimdall.  

“Did it work?”  

“Yes.”  

Thor beams.  

“To send yourself, or another, through the Bifrost, you must know the destination by name or by sight. You may also travel to a being, but you must know their name as well. There is much in these realms that is unknown to you, prince,” Heimdall says. “If you can picture a place, you may go there. Your brother wishes to take you to see the worlds with him when he returns.”  

Thor smiles.  

“In the meantime, he wants you to travel to your room and back. Think of it and step through the wall. When you get there, think of yourself in the orb and call to the Bifrost with your mind.”  

Thor approaches the wall and everything goes black. He finds himself on his back in his bed, looking at the gilt ceiling, and laughs. This is what he sees when he envisions his room. He climbs out of bed. Seems to have gone smoothly enough. He imagines gold walls carved with wings and his brother’s beautiful words and calls to the bridge.  

Darkness comes again, and once more it is followed by gold.   

Heimdall nods his approval.  

“Is my brother here?” Thor asks.  

“Aye.”

Where will you go first, Cow? Thor writes.  

Sessrumnir, Folkvangr, Vanaheim, comes the reply.  

Thor rolls his eyes.  

“Behave yourself, brother,” Thor warns, or perhaps pleads.


	15. Magpie

Thor’s instruction in seidr is taken up by his father. 

“Now that you have found that which is darkest within you, you will be able to find it without,” Odin tells him. 

Thor clenches his jaw and nods, but doesn’t blush or blink. He counts that as a victory.  

………

Loki arrives in Freyja’s fair hall and drinks deeply of its sweet air with thirsty lungs. Tall trees provide the architecture here; two long rows of them at the sides and a wall of them at the back, behind her throne of moss and blossoms. Light filters through the branches overhead and leaves a lacing of shadow on the clover floor. Hildisvini is grunting happily, stretched out in a patch of sun.  

Freyja is asleep, resting in a rare moment of peace granted her during the busiest half of the year. Two cats are curled at her feet. Odr is absent, as ever. Loki has never seen him and has long doubted his existence. He wonders if he was ever real, or if he died somehow. But never mind. Alfheim’s king is ignoring his throne again; Freyr is here, asleep behind his sister, every bit as beautiful as she is, though both are only half as lovely as Thor.  

Loki kneels by her sleeping face.  

“Sweet goddess, I beseech you, bring me back to the brother I love.”  

She doesn’t stir. Loki sighs. He sees Brisingamen shining at her throat and he hums. He still can’t lift Gungnir, nor Mjolnir, but this…  Does the necklace belong only to her? he wonders. 

His fingers touch the gold and he sees the double lift from its original and slide through her neck like a scythe. It holds the heat from her skin and feels delicious in his hand. Heavy and smooth. He puts it on and slides every other piece of jewelry from her unsuspecting form. He even takes her dress, tossing it over his arm as he stands. And then he sees feathers shining behind Freyr. He smirks and steps past the sleeping siblings, scooping up this treasure.  

“My thanks to you lady,” he says, bowing, before he’s swept up into the Bifrost.   

Loki goes to his room and finds Thor reading in his bed. He returns to the Bifrost and summons his brother. Thor arrives flat on his back, book still in his hands. He stands and smiles.  

“Good evening, Heimdall,” Thor says, and grins when the guardian holds out his palm.  

A note appears, and Thor takes it.  

I have gifts for you, brother, if they’ll fit through the bars of my cage.  

Two gold arm bands appear in Heimdall’s hand. Thor reaches for them and finds them warm. Meant for a woman’s upper arm, he can just get them over his wrists. Rings follow - ruby, emerald, onyx, and opal, all set in gold. Thor thinks there’s something familiar about them as he slides them onto his littlest fingers.   

Bracelets and earrings come, but Thor can’t wear them. An anklet hangs from Heimdall’s fingers. Thor clasps it on his wrist.   

And then the necklace. Thor’s mouth opens soundlessly. Even he knows its name.  

The cloak of feathers is next, and Thor gapes.   

Finally, the dress is hung from the guardian’s arm.  

"Oh, Loki, you didn’t,” Thor groans, stifling laughter.  

“I did.”  

“He did,” Heimdall says.  

Thor snorts.  

Where next? Thor writes.  

Midgard, Loki replies, and Thor can’t hide his surprise. 

Loki arrives in the Manhattan Public Library and takes every book on Norse Mythology he can find. He doesn’t quite believe these foolish creatures could have perfect foresight, but it’s better than nothing. Possibly. Though they think he mated with a horse. Still, they got the bulk of the names right, and that alone makes their books worth a peek.

He throws the stack into a satchel and returns to his room to read in comfort. The books stink of human skin. He can see the tracks left  by their grimy fingers on the edges of the pages and sighs in disgust.

He reads quickly. His belly feels bruised again and he swears. He’s sick of ruining his clothes with blood. And why must it hurt? If it’s going to bleed and ache like an injury it could at least have the decency to heal and be done with it. Or kill me. This ambivalence is almost insulting.  

He stuffs a cloth down his leggings, casts a spell to keep it in place and tries not to whine audibly.  

He shuts his book and huffs. It seems he must journey to Muspelheim after all. He had intended to avoid it. 

A pattern arises. 

Thor asks where Loki is going. Loki answers. And the word traced in his smooth script is never Jotunheim.  

It’s Svartalfheim, and, as far as Thor can tell, Loki seizes everything that isn’t nailed down (and a few things that visibly were). It takes hoursto pass it all through Heimdall’s hands. Thor is surprised the gatekeeper stands for it.  

It’s Helheim, and Thor huffs, impatiently. Loki passes him a pair of iron helskor and a board, one foot wide and fourteen feet long.

It’s  Niflheim,  and Thor groans, “Be careful, brother.” Loki returns with water from Hvergelmir, a dragon’s scale the size of a shield, shed by Nidhogg, and venom caught from his fangs. He wore his Jotnar skin the whole time he was there. He finds he has more physical strength  in that form. He hefted the scale with ease, and the cold felt welcome. He thinks he might be able to give Thor a thrashing in this shape, if he could touch him without burning his skin. 

It's Muspelheim, and Thor shouts at Loki for half an hour, terrified that harm will come to him while he's beyond the aid of healers. Loki returns with a sheathed sword, and when Thor begins to pull it free, the light from the blade is blinding. He slams it back in up to the hilt, cursing.

It’s Alfheim, and Loki returns with two copies of the sword Freyr gave to Skirnir. It comes with the instruction that Thor is to keep one and give the remaining duplicate to Freyr at Winternights, and to warn him not to part with it.  

Thor puts all the weapons in Odin’s vault, but he keeps the jewelry in the chest in Loki’s room with his other treasures.  

The days are getting short again. The loss of sunlight wears on Thor. In the thousands of dreams and fancies he’s had, he has always envisioned Loki at his side in summer. In his bed, shining with sweat on sticky nights. In the streams and lakes, swimming by moonlight to cool off afterward. Camped under the stars, no need for a tent, dewdrops in their hair. He mourns another warm season spent alone, for both himself and his brother. 

Loki walks into Valaskjalf, finding Odin on the throne.  Good, he thinks. Let him watch. He strides with purpose toward Hlidskjalf, smiling all the way, mounting the steps, and slipping right through the All-Father to sit on the seat of gold.  

And it works.   

He can see everything. How can Heimdall stand it? He boggles. At least Odin can leave the throne and cease this sight. He makes a mental note to avoid wandering any further from the Gatekeeper’s good graces.   

He looks for Thanos and finds the wretched thing flirting awkwardly with the object of his affection. Loki is relieved that he can keep an eye on the bulky fodder of his nightmares. He’ll have to come back here as often as he’s able to mark the god’s progress (or, preferably, lack thereof).

After breakfast the following morning Loki takes Thor to the Bifrost.  

Where next, my pretty magpie? Thor writes, stomach crawling with nerves inside him. 

Where else, love? To Jotunheim, at last, Loki answers. I had to take advantage of the few benefits afforded by the spell before I broke it. Fill the coffers of my future king. 

Thor paces. 

What’s wrong? We knew this was coming, Loki pens.

Thor is too agitated to sit down and write.  

“When the spell breaks… I know not where…” Thor huffs. “Be careful. Don’t be caught unawares in the midst of some mischief. Come straight home.”  

I will, love. Fret not. Practice your seidr. Give my love to mother. And grant me a silly favor: wear Freyja’s dress and jewels to the Winternights ball. With your hair down. I’ll attend, one way or another.  

Thor laughs when he reads the note.  

“I shall, but I’ll warn you, brother: if you’re not back, I’ll bring Fandral as my guest. I might not be able to resist his charms.”  

Loki smiles, scrawls something on a sheet of paper, wads it up into a ball, and asks Heimdall to throw it at his brother. He obliges.  

Thor chuckles and opens up the crumpled note.  

Strumpet! It reads.  

Thor grins. 

  
  


 


	16. Fall

Thor finds the time passes faster if he fills his days to bursting. He studies with his father each day after breakfast, and though he still feels like an ungainly adolescent when it comes to magic, he masters the spells. He is not as graceful as his family here, but he is as determined and strong as ever. He can sense seidr the way he can smell water. He can counter a spell before it reaches him. And he can heal wounds, however slowly. He’s back with Halldis for the latter half of each morning, learning potions that will counter poisons.

He eats and spars more, building himself back up to what he was before his brother’s banishment. His friends help him to run himself ragged, fighting him in turns until he is tired, knowing it will let him sleep.  

His mother watches him closely, dining with him at least once each day and lavishing affection on his touch-starved form. She is always pinching him, nudging him, plaiting his hair, taking his arm, patting his cheeks, and kissing the top of his head. He doesn't have the words to thank her for it. He just pecks her cheek while he hugs her close and reminds himself she already knows it all.  

“Have faith in him,” she says.  

“I do,” Thor answers.  

Winternights comes quickly, and Thor makes good on his threat. He asks Fandral to be his companion for the evening and confesses that he’ll be costumed as Freyja. Fandral grins.   

“Then I shall dress as Hildisvini,” he says, and Thor claps his shoulder and thanks him.  

This is hardly the most harrowing thing I’ve asked him to do, Thor reminds himself. Still, Fandral is risking the wrath of several gods. What have I ever done to deserve friends like these? He promises himself he’ll be a better friend in turn.

Thor wears his armour and cape, face clean shaven, to the feast that begins the Winternights celebration and stands with his parents at the door, welcoming the guests as they arrive.  

He sees Freyja and Freyr, who are dressed as spring and summer, and bows.  

“My lady, my lord,” Thor greets. “My apologies to you, for my costume this evening was chosen by my brother. I mean to keep my word to him, and I hope not to offend you in doing so.” Freyja smiles and Thor continues quietly. “He sends this gift to you, Freyr, and asks that you not part with it.”  

Freyr looks worried when Thor hands him the sword and Thor guesses why.  

“Skirnir still has his sword,” Thor assures. “Loki has turned his banishment into a blessing, insofar as he is able. This is the sword’s twin.”  

“That is wholly unsurprising,” Freyr laughs. “And rather impressive.”

………

Loki sighs and shifts his skin a few minutes of his arrival in Jotunheim. He sees no sense in punishing himself, as Odin is doing a fine job of it already. His blue body welcomes the chill.  

It’s a different realm in this other skin of his; he can hear the sound the snow makes falling through the sky. Smell the storms. He can taste fish when they’re near in the streams, which is theoretically convenient, but in practice it irritates him; he dislikes seafood.  

The vast icy halls of Laufey’s palace - which Loki feels is not quite the right word for it these days, if, indeed, it ever was - stand nearly empty. There are guards. Helblindi sits on the throne. The guards change shifts. Sad meals of stinking fish are eaten with no visible pleasure. The guards take turns watching (as nothing happens) and sleeping. And that’s it.   

Loki observes, gobsmacked, for days How is this beast my brother? Loki boggles. No news comes to the king. No scouts are sent out. No repairs are made. Stasis.   

He looks for their library, but when he finds the only sensible room for it - lined with shelves and full of tables and chairs - there are no books. No scrolls. No maps. Everything has been cleared out. Carefully, he notes. Did Odin steal this, too, when he took me? I have never seen the evidence.   

He watches another week of this strange display and leaves, baffled. They are as frozen as their realm, he marvels.

He can taste seidr in the air. It is a long way off, but Jotunheim is the realm with which he’s least familiar, so he opts to walk in the magic’s direction and commit his route to memory. He can see clearly in the darkness with his red eyes. The mountains are glassy and beautiful. The spaces are wide and the snow unbroken. Desolate, to be sure, but perfect in it.  

His mind wanders as his eyes catalogue the landscape.   

What was Odin thinking?  

What was his purpose? His plan for me?   

I was left to die, so I was no candidate for bargaining. Useless for ransom or as a hostage.  

Was he going to send me here as an adult for political endeavors? Neither the Aesir or Jotun ever fully trusted me. I might have made a decent ambassador if I had known it was my future, but surely that bridge has been burned.

Did he mean to make a example of me? Witness the true Jotun: he loves seidr, lying, mischief, and his brother. That would only fuel their hate. If Thor turned out to be a Frost Giant that could mean something. People might revise their opinions. Thor would likely leave them little choice.   

Was he going to marry me off to some giantess? Study me? What?  

Is he as softhearted as Thor?

The mountains around him obscure less of the sky.  

He keeps walking and the magic grows almost palpable.  

Some days later the streams that trickle from the hills smell sweeter and are wider than any he has yet seen. He drinks water that has no taste of fish. At a memorable oxbow in the river beside him he stops and surveys his position in all directions, noting the stars over his head. He calls to the Bifrost, and when he gets there, he calls to his brother.

………

The Winternights feast is one of Thor’s favorites. It reminds him of Loki. The desserts have been made to look like main courses, and vice versa. The breads have been baked in molds to look like roasted fowl. Pleasant tricks spread out over the banquet tables. The fruits of the harvest are as fresh as they’ll ever be. The manners are casual. The guests are not quite anonymous, but not wholly themselves. The costumes grant and beg leniency, to and from everyone. The seating is not set, so all may choose and revise their company. Mead and wine are plentiful.   

Thor sits with his friends. Sif and Hogun are dressed as Huginn and Muninn, hair loose and feathered around their masked faces. Volstagg is a stag, as he is every year, and every year his antlers are more elaborate. Tonight he can barely keep his head up. Halfway through the evening Hogun will trim the horns with his sword to make sure the headpiece doesn’t fall and cause an injury.  

Fandral has a bristly cloak and a beautiful helmet of carved wood. The likeness to Hildisvini is remarkable.   

“Your carving is a wonder,” Thor praises. “You are to trees what the dwarves are to ore.”  

“Thank you,” Fandral says with a bow. “Even I am rather pleased with this one. But tell me, friend, where is your costume?”  

“I only vowed to wear it to the ball, so I’m sparing myself the feast,” Thor answers.  

“His cleverness is wearing off on you at last,” Sif teases.  

“Thank the Norns,” Thor groans. “I am long overdue.”

When the tables are being cleared, Thor and Fandral hurry off to fetch his costume.     

Thor takes his armour off with magic and Fandral applauds.

“It’s about time you picked up that trick.”  

Thor laughs his agreement. Undressing with seidr also serves to remind him of his own banishment, and it keeps him humble and patient while he waits for Loki to come home.

“Where did you get this?” Fandral murmurs when he sees the dress.  

“Loki took it from Freyja.”  

“And how do you expect to get into it?” Fandral asks as Thor shucks off his clothes.  

Thor smiles.  

“Mother fixed it.”  

He tosses the dress over his head and Fandral tugs it down for him.  

“Freyja will either love you or skin you for this.”  

“I have already warned her that I mean no harm.”  

“Let us hope, for the sake of your hide, she believes you.”

Thor opens a chest and takes out Brisingamen.  

“No,” Fandral gasps.  

"Yes," Thor grins, and puts on the rest of the jewelry that fits him.

“How is he?”   

“He’s still not home, but he’s here tonight.”  

“Oh, I believe it. I don’t think he’d miss this for all the realms.”

“What shall I do with my hair?” Thor mutters. “Loki said to wear it down, but surely she does something more than that.”  

“Have you any other necklaces?”  

Thor heaves another chest onto his table and opens it. Fandral laughs.  

“Svartalfheim will never forgive him.”

Thor nods his agreement.

They sift through jewels until they find an emerald pendant hanging from a long thin chain of gold.  

“Perfect,” Fandral says.  

Together they weave the chain into plaits that begin in the hair at Thor’s temples and join at the back of his head, leaving the pendant stretched across his brow.  

“Well?” Thor asks.  

Fandral shakes his head and escorts Thor to a mirror.

“Ah, I see,” Thor says, and they’re taken by a fit of giggling.

Brisingamen frames the base of his throat, where on Freyja it hangs loosely and nestles between her breasts. The dress has no sleeves, and Thor’s thick arms look absurd beside the layers of creamy silk flowing between them and the links of gold that form the gown’s straps. The garment fits, thanks to Frigga’s skill, but rather than lending its softness and delicacy to Thor, it only serves to point out how utterly lacking he is in either.   

Fandral collects himself, straightens, and offers Thor his arm. He takes it and they run back to the ball.  

They manage to sneak in largely unnoticed and rejoin their friends. Volstagg is off drinking some strange thing of his own invention. Thor is tempted to try it, but decides to wait until later in case it disagrees with him. Sif and Hogun are dancing together in their matching black cloaks and feathered masks. They look marvelous. Thor and Fandral take up a position near them and the four of them spin through the hall.  

Freyja catches Thor’s eye from across the room and he mouths his apologies but she only laughs. Thank the Norns, he thinks. Fandral claps his back.  

“It seems you’ll live through the night.”

At the end of the evening the friends convene and agree to try Volstagg’s creation. It is mild and tart, weirdly sobering, and a welcome departure from the stupor into which they were collectively descending. They’ll be able to make it home to their own beds rather than piling into Thor’s like a cluster of snoring grapes.  

They say their goodnights and part, Fandral kissing Thor’s hand and squeezing it in his own, both of them grinning. Thor has only taken a few steps from the hall when he’s snatched up by the Bifrost.  

A note is already waiting Heimdall’s hand.  

“Odinson.”  

“Heimdall. Good evening. And thank you,” Thor says, taking the paper and walking toward the wall, dress twisting and flowing around his ankles.

Loki’s writing is unusually large. Thor laughs.

“You’ve been at the wine,” he chuckles, before sitting down to read, bare toes flexing, gold cool against the bared skin of his back.

By the Nine, brother, I shall never forgive myself for failing to break this spell before tonight. The way you look. Norns, Thor. It burns me to be beyond your reach.  

You are keeping that dress and I am fucking you in it as soon as I get back. And don’t you dare misplace it or mutilate it.

It won’t be much longer, love. There is something in Jotunheim. I’m nearly there. Be patient with me a while yet.

“As long as it takes,” Thor says, smiling.  

Another note appears and Thor staggers to his feet to retrieve it.  

If I may beg another favor. Go to your room and take the dress off. Slowly. I’ll stay beside you tonight, but I must leave early. Sleep late; the time will pass more quickly.

Thor nods and bows to Heimdall before stepping through the orb and into his room.  

He lights his torches with magic, the way Loki would, and walks over to his table. He thinks for a moment. Sliding the dress down will look better then tugging it over my head,  he decides. But shall I do the jewelry before or after? He opts for after, reasoning that the jewels will be more striking without the dress distracting from them. And because Loki never mentioned their removal  

He unclasps the gold belt at his waist, lays it on the table, and wonders where, exactly, his brother is. He slides the straps of the dress over his shoulders one at a time, fingers trailing over his skin. When he lets his arms fall, the dress goes with them, fluttering down to pool at his ankles.  

“I should like to see you wear it,” Thor says, bending to retrieve the gown and draping it over a chair. “You’ve such lovely shoulders."

Loki’s eyes take everything in greedily. The spill of Thor’s hair down his back, the longest it’s ever been. The angle of his hips as he rests his weight on his right leg, letting his left hang loosely. The motions of his hands as he slides the bands from his wrists and fingers. The stretch of his ribs and flex of his belly as he reaches to undo the braids in his hair and release the necklace woven into them. And his bare face, lips pouting slightly in concentration. Beautiful, Loki mourns.  

And then he’s wearing only Brisingamen. Gold and opals fanning out from his throat. Loki wants to steal the original when he gets back. Thor should be the only one to wear it.  

He puts the necklace in a case he had made for it.

“Come with me, love,” Thor murmurs, walking down the hall to the bath  

The hole in the water lets Thor know his brother is standing right in front of him. He sighs  

"Norns, how I miss you. "

Loki steps closer and Thor smiles.  

“Dance with me,” Thor says, and the empty spot in the bath moves with him.

Loki watches Thor sleeping until he drifts off. He wakes before dawn and returns to his oxbow in Jotunheim.   

He feels a sense of urgency that almost bites his heels. And curiosity. Dread, perhaps, but that just spurs him on. He wants it to be over. He wants to go home. Wants to curl up with Thor and sleep for a century.  

He follows the river and the seidr grows stronger.  

Birds catch his eye, slowly circling in the air above. Huge birds, he thinks. Or, perhaps, not birds. Scouts? But for whom?  

He can smell the sea. And here and there by the banks of the river he spots tracks. Footprints. Catches the scent of skin. Sees drops of blood in the snow and smells fish.   

Smooth structures of ice glisten in the distance, looking almost like obsidian. A few small outbuildings. Guard houses, his mind supplies. A path branches off from the bank and he takes it toward to city. He passes by the guard’s quarters and peeks inside. There are more soldiers on one shift here than there were for all the shifts in Laufey’s ruin. He approaches the gap in the wall and expects to be blocked by a spell, but he’s able to walk right through. I suppose they’re not terribly concerned about their security.  

The palace is first, not protecting itself with the sprawl of its citizens - quite the opposite. He walks into it.   

It’s bustling. Guards are stationed. Pages are waiting and running about. The throne is in a straight line from the main door, not hidden down corridors. Loki loves it. It reminds him of Thor - blunt, fearless, unbowed.   

The Frost Giant on the throne is peering into a basin. A larger giant stands by his side. Loki stands before them and looks into the water with them. The magic is smooth and soothing against his skin. And its depth is irresistible to him. The basin allows the king to see anything that stands before water. In Asgard you’d be stuck looking at sky and occasionally the ceiling. But, here, the snow and ice obey the spell. They watch Helblindi sit on Laufey’s throne and they sigh.   

“When will he admit that he’s been a fool and come home?” The large giant asks the king.  

“Not today, it seems,” the king answers, lifting his head.  

Loki’s mouth falls open. The face before him is nearly his own. The jaw isn’t quite as pronounced, and the eyes are more rounded, but he knows they’re kin.   

How? He wonders. Is this a brother? My real father? Was Odin wrong? Or lying?  

A page comes in and greets them, King Farbauti and Prince Byleistr.  

Loki scowls. He knows these names. My mother and brother. But that can’t be right. Someone is missing. Or hiding something. Or confused.

He wanders the palace until he finds the library. He spends days there. And then he walks though the city to see if all he read is true.

There are children. He stares. They run and shout and play like all the others he’s known. And their parents watch them, but not so closely that they seem fearful for their safety. Some of the adults are smaller than Loki, but not by much. Others are Volstagg's size. A few are huge like Helblindi, but they are all old - Odin’s age, at least, if Loki had to guess. None of the children are any larger than their Aesir counterparts. So far, so true.  

He finds a market square. There is more fish. Various sea grasses. Tools of bone. Seal meat and seal hide.   

He’s glad he brought apples and marchpane.   

They seem to operate on trade rather than coin. Loki hasn’t seen any metal or wood. Their books are all on parchment.  

Homes are generously spaced. He peers into them. A giant with a ludicrous number of hides bundled in his arms is walking into a house and Loki follows him. Everything inside is made of stone, ice, leather, and bone, but they seem to want for nothing. The giant makes its way into a small room. Nearly the whole of it is taken up by a bed. A slab of ice runs the back two thirds of the space. Dried seaweed is piled on top of it and covered with seal skins. Another giant is sleeping in this nest, buried beneath more skins, and the room lights with seidr when Loki and his unsuspecting guide approach.  

“You’re awake,” his guide says, surprised, setting his haul at the foot of the bed.  

“Of course I’m awake, I’m being kicked. Look at all this squirming.”  

The reclining figure tosses back the seal hides and Loki sighs, So it’s all true, then. He sees his own strange shape, but stretched. There are two tiny breasts and an enormous belly.  You bear twins or your baby has eight legs, Loki assesses, watching the little limbs writhe beneath blue skin.

“It won’t be long.”  

“I know. I can’t wait to be able to walk again.”  

Loki scowls at this for a moment but then realizes fitting an infant through such a narrow pelvis would require some drastic softening of ligaments. He grimaces.  

“Hungry?”  

“Always,” the pregnant giant sighs. “I miss having my own appetite.”  

They’re having fish for supper. Loki wrinkles his nose and returns to the palace library. He doubles and shrinks the majority of the books and packs them away in his bag. He’ll hand them over to Heimdall and then restore them when the spell breaks.

Farbauti’s face lures him in for one last look. That’s definitely my nose. Cheekbones, too.  

“You carried me, it seems, King,” Loki says, unheard. “So I am in your debt. And I like you well. You remind me of my brother. I shall see you again, I think.”

Loki walks the coast, hearing nothing but the crunch of smooth stones underfoot and the quiet roar of water crashing into itself as it travels toward his toes in waves. He comes to another river and follows it inland. The gurgling of the water that flows beside him is welcome in the silence that surrounds him. There is no wind to howl at him today.   

Strange formations of either ice or stone pepper the foot of the mountains to his left, like whiskers on its chin. He sets off in their direction.  

When he draws near he can see that they are, indeed, ice. Pillars of it - some barely reaching his knee, others towering over him, perhaps thirty feet into the air. They stretch for miles along the foothills of this range. They’re too perfect to be naturally occurring, but too random and varied to be the ruin of some ancient structure.  

He approaches the nearest pillar and examines it.  

"Norns," he gasps.  

Within the ice is a Frost Giant. Loki briefly entertains the thought that it is hibernating. But, no, it wouldn’t need to come over here for that. Inside another post of ice he finds a giant with visibly mortal wounds and confirms his other suspicion.  

Loki is surrounded by tombs.   

The smallest are for infants, and the largest are for Jotnar of Helblindi’s stature. All standing on their feet, facing the sea.    

A fearless way to mourn, Loki thinks. They do not escape their dead, burning them to ash and sending them into the ocean as the Aesir do. He wonders if, perhaps, it’s a comfort to be able to gaze on the departed. Or if it’s an agony. Probably a bit of both, he decides.

The ice on an infant’s grave is wearing thin at the top from the relentless touch of the wind. Loki calls more ice to thicken it, unnerved by the thought of the babe’s round head eroding like stone.

He returns to the river and continues moving inland.   

Farbauti’s seidr is spectacular, he thinks. We must make an ally of Jotunheim. It will take much to secure a lasting peace. Surely they bear no love for my brother. But perhaps if Thor returned the Casket. Would Jotunheim use it to attack Asgard? Or Midgard? They don’t seem to be spoiling for war. Indeed, they look well rooted. Has Odin been in contact with their King?

If I could meet with their healers sooner rather than later it would be helpful. There is much I would ask them:

Am I well?

Can I bear children?  

Can I bear Thor’s children?  

Would they be in danger?  

Would they be like him, or like me. Or both. Or neither?

Will I always burn the Aesir with my Jotnar skin?

Will my life be longer or shorter than my brother’s?

Are there poisons I need to fear?

Is the light harmful to me?

What other surprises does this form have in store?

And last, but not least, Do I need to start eating fish? He dearly hopes not.

He wonders how much his mother knows about such things. Everything, he reasons. She has seen it all. He thinks that after a stiff drink… or six… he might have the nerve to ask her. I’ll get her drunk, too, for good measure, he decides.

But before he embarrasses himself unnecessarily, he shall consult all the books he copied from Farbauti’s library. And he’ll tell Thor to speak with Odin about beginning talks with Jotunheim.  

He wants to sit down in the snow right this second and begin reading, but decides he’ll return to Asgard. He can read in comfort and pester his brother about befriending this clever Jotun witch king. He wants to bring Thor to see the cemetery here - preferably with permission.  

Landmarks are hard to come by, but he knows the graveyard well enough, so he won’t lose too much ground if he returns to Asgard now. He turns in a circle anyway, in the hope of finding something to distinguish his present location. His eyes catch on footprints. His  footprints. He would swear they had been filling in with Odin’s spell. When did they stop? Why did they stop? he wonders. He walks back through them for half a mile and they vanish again at the infant's grave. The ice he called is still there. It shouldn't be, he realizes. He had forgotten his curse. What does this mean? Did something happen to the All-Father? Is Thor in danger?

He calls to the Bifrost and rides it to the roof of Asgard’s highest tower.  All is quiet here. No war. No alarm.

He goes to their hall. Still no sign of his brother.  

In the Bifrost he hands his bag off to Heimdall and then searches the realms for Thor with the spell that’s woven into his bones.

Midgard, he groans, and then his heart hears his brother screaming.

………

Tony is flying toward Thor, Steve in tow, having heard his teammate shout for help. Thanos is batting at their comrade as a kitten does string. Loki’s protections on Thor’s armour keep it from being damaged, and the blows bounce off of him almost comically. Tony quirks a smile at the strange display, but it doesn’t last; Thanos sees the solution.   

He plucks Thor’s helmet from his head and plunges the tip of a wing into Thor’s neck. Tony hears Rogers shouting at his side. And just like that, we’re too fucking late, Stark thinks, heart sinking.   

Another figure appears, and Jarvis tells him facial recognition is a ninety eight percent match for Loki. But his skin is blue and textured and he’s completely unarmed. Stark watches this slim foreign figure facing off against Thanos, who towers above him. A tiny barricade before Thor’s crumpled body. Hopeless, Tony thinks.   

Thanos rips the helmet from Thor’s neck and raises it for another strike, but it never lands; the hand in its gauntlet falls severed to the earth, cut and cauterized with a blade of ice. Loki kicks it away and calls more ice to the ground and to the air - daggers of it swirling in the wind, stinging and slicing Thanos’s skin. The brute acts on reflex and moves to cover his eyes too quickly, unbalancing himself and crashing down onto his back as his feet fly out in front of him. It would probably be amusing, if such things were still possible, but Loki isn’t laughing. He calls all the magic in Migard to himself and is met with sharp pain as Mjolnir answers, flying to the palm of his right hand, breaking the unsuspecting fingers in her path. Loki scowls at the hammer, hating her for leaving his brother. Faithless thing, he thinks, You should have died with your mate. He perches her on Thanos’s chest while he ponders how best to be rid of the god of death.  

Sound returns to Loki’s ears as his fury and hope leave him. Shouting and sirens. Machines. Footsteps. And something familiar. A thudding he would know anywhere. But it’s all wrong. Far too fast. The only way it could be worse is if it stopped.

He turns and finds his brother, bleeding heavily but still breathing, pressing his shaking hands to his wounded neck and murmuring spells. Loki drops and thrusts the blue fingers of his left hand into the wound, burning it shut, and screams once at the sky.  

"Father! Help him, please!"  

Loki uses every healing spell he knows while Thor smiles stupidly up at him. He coughs blood onto Loki’s face and Loki can taste it. A chill goes down his spine. Blood, seed, tears, and sweat… I’ve tasted them all now, Loki realizes. Be careful what you wish for. The cobalt fades from his skin, replaced by pale pink. Thor grabs shiny black curls with sticky fingers and pulls Loki down for a kiss that tastes of iron and ice.  

They smell apples, and when they look up, Odin is standing over them. Loki lifts Thor like a child and sets him in his father’s arms. They vanish, leaving Loki with his prisoner.   

Stark and Rogers approach cautiously.  

“Watch him for me,” Loki says to them, nodding at Thanos. “I’ll be back in a few seconds.”  

He takes up the severed hand in its jeweled gauntlet and rides the Bifrost to his bedroom. He freezes the limb and tosses it onto the table, snatches what he needs from his shelves, and is back as quickly as he promised. Thor’s comrades appear to be in shock.  

“Hold this,” Loki says to Stark, handing him a vial. When Stark opens his mouth to object, Loki brandishes his broken fingers in the man’s face, flopping them about grotesquely and shutting him up so effectively he thinks it almost might be worth doing again, pain be damned.  

Loki takes a few strands of golden hair from the glass and speaks a name. This invitation cannot be declined. And it’s personal, where the Bifrost would suggest Asgard’s official involvement. Snatching up deities via the rainbow bridge without giving them fair warning is frowned upon, in peacetime, anyway, and Loki doesn’t want trouble for his brother’s kingdom.  

The spell works faster than Loki is expecting.  

A beautiful young man appears, still sleeping, curled up on his side on the ground in nothing but his skin. He nearly glows. Even Rogers gapes. Loki crouches, touching the man’s arm.

“Hypnos.”  

The man stirs.  

“Loki?”  

Loki offers his good hand and helps the drowsy god to his feet.  

“Why did you summon me? Why did you not fetch me from my cave?”  

“I couldn’t waste time looking for you on the off chance you weren’t in. And I couldn’t risk your refusal. I am sorry, old friend; this wil l not be pleasant.”

Loki leads Hypnos to his brother, who is surrounded by blood that is not his own.  

“Whose blood is this?”  

“Thor’s,” Loki answers, and Hypnos buries his face in his hands.  

“Brother,” Hypnos sighs, “what have you done?”  

“I came to look for the Tesseract,” Thanos gasps.  

"Why? And don’t you dare tell me it was that woman!" Hypnos snarls.  

“She is all there is,” Thanos hisses, “and she wants it.”  

“She wants death, you fool!” Hypnos shouts. “She would remake all the realms in her own image. You, and me, and all that draws breath or grows. Even if you two were the only beings left, she would not be satisfied; she cannot be happy with you until you’re rotting, don’t you see?”

“So be it,” Thanos says.  

Hypnos turns, gaping and shaking his head, tears streaking his face. Loki leads him a little way off.  

“I’m sorry, friend,” Hypnos murmurs. “I slept too long. I did not realize he had slipped so far into this madness.”  

“You have only ever showed me kindness,” Loki says. “And it is my fondness for you that has stayed my hand this long. I will grant your brother what little mercy lives in me, for your sake, but I cannot promise it will last.”  

Loki reaches into his pocket and takes out a vial of grey liquid.  

“What is it?” Hypnos asks.  

“Water from your river, milk from your poppies, and the petals of an anemone. I will make him drink this, and I will ask him about his love. And it will wipe all memory of her from his mind. If my brother lives, so shall yours. But if Thor dies by the wound Thanos gave him, then I am sorry, friend; nothing will save him from me.”  

Hypnos nods.  

When it is done, Loki ties Mjolnir to his hip and escorts the two brothers back to the tiny island that sits in its silent river.

Tony and Steve swear softly to themselves. Stark picks up Thor’s helmet. They stare at the ocean of blood staining the ground and try to fight back tears, but they lose.


	17. Asgard

Loki makes straight for Thor’s side, finding Odin, Frigga and Halldis already there, brows damp with sweat and faces pale. He can hear Thor’s pulse. Far too high, but a welcome sound all the same. He’s in a deep sleep. And he’s wan. Sunken. But he’s breathing.

“Is there nothing I can do?” Loki whispers.  

“Stay with him,” Frigga says, and turns to wipe Loki’s cheeks.  

He doesn’t remember when he started crying.   

Loki wonders why the shielding spell tied to Thor’s pulse never worked and then catches the flaw in it; Thor never panicked, never fell into fear. His heart was steady. That probably saved him; beating the blood out of his neck slowly enough that even Thor’s clumsy hands managed to accomplish some healing before his heart sped up in response to the wound.  

Loki feels his mother squeeze his shoulder before she leads Odin out of the room. Halldis remains.   

“Come on, lad. Let’s have a look at you and get those clever fingers mended.”  

He sets Mjolnir under Thor’s bed, takes his clothes off with seidr, and sits on the empty cot.  

“I’m a Frost Giant,” he sighs.   

She just shrugs.   

“If you burn me, I’ll put on gloves and spank you.”  

He snorts and lies back on the bed, smirking. He’s waiting to find out if Jotun anatomy holds any surprises for her.  

Apparently not. 

He gapes at the ceiling. She has just examined parts of him he hasn’t even seen with his own eyes and pronounced him fit, apart from his fractured fingers. These she cleans and sets, coating them in ointment and wrapping them in linen bandages to protect them  while his skin grows back. Perhaps I'll just ask her about this body of mine, Loki muses. 

He watches her give Thor water like she’s feeding a baby bird. It starts him weeping again. She makes Loki sit up and hands him something in a glass of his own. Cream and chocolate. He smiles and she kisses his head before she leaves.  

The quiet of the room is oppressive. He wishes for an open window and birdsong. Perhaps a cool breeze and rain. But Thor needs warmth and darkness. Needs this weird wooden womb while he grows back into himself.   

Loki casts a spell to muffle the sound as he butts his bed up against Thor’s, then curls up beside him, holding his hand and watching him sleep. He guesses it’s morning when Halldis returns. She gives Thor more water and a thin broth. Loki watches Thor’s throat working to swallow it, terrified he’ll choke, but nothing goes awry. With feather-light strokes, she paints more ointment onto the ruin of flesh on the right half of Thor’s neck. He doesn’t stir.  

Halldis says nothing about the intimately adjoined beds, walking around the feet (now a foot) and sitting beside Loki. Strong fingers take his wrist and set it on a soft knee. She unwraps his hand and kneads the muscles and bones, tight where they’ve knitted themselves together in the night. He revels in the touch and stares at her fingers where they work his own. She sets a tray piled with pastries and fruit on his lap. He watches Thor and thinks it’s cruel of his breakfast to taste so wonderful when his brother is so broken.  

Some hours later, Frigga comes in and stipples Loki’s cheeks with kisses. Brushes his hair and ties it back for him. He’s too low to have any shame left in him, so he rolls away onto his belly and folds the sheet down, exposing his back. He hasn’t asked for this since he was a child. Over a thousand years. He hopes he won’t have to explain himself. He has hardly any heart left to break.   

He exhales in relief and gratitude when her long nails glide down his spine. They leave white paths that brighten to pink in their wake. The touch almost tickles, but there’s always just enough pressure in the drag of her hand that it soothes like scratching an itch. Of course she remembers - she’s my mother, he chides himself.   

She stays, scratching the pale planes of his back until he falls asleep. 

In the morning he wakes with his face wedged under Thor’s shoulder and Thor’s arm clutched to his chest. Thor still hasn’t stirred.   

Loki is propped up on one arm and leaning over to press a kiss to the tip of Thor’s nose when Halldis comes in. Perfect, Loki thinks, wincing and going still, I look like a bloody incubus.  

“Any change in him?” she asks.  

“No,” he murmurs.

“Hold his head up for me, dearie.”  

He nods and cradles Thor’s skull while she tips broth between his lips with a tea cup. He looks closely at the wound in Thor’s neck as her fingers coat it with more ointment. It’s ugly. The wings of Thor’s helmet are not sharp, so the skin was torn rather than cut.  There is deep bruising and raw flesh where the skin has peeled away from Loki’s burns.

Halldis says nothing about the kiss she caught him in, so he resumes it and adds one to Thor’s forehead before curling up at his side.  

“When will your blood be coming, lad,” she asks. 

When he finally realizes what she’s talking about he groans and rolls onto his back.  

“Ummmm… shit. Sorry. Two weeks, I think.”  

“See me about it before then and I’ll get you sorted.”  

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Frigga brings him breakfast. After he’s eaten she sends him to bathe and dress, promising to stay by Thor’s side while he’s gone. It feels good to stretch his legs. To be seen. To nod at guards and grin at pages and have his greetings returned. And the light is welcome to him after Jotunheim’s darkness. His spirits aren’t quite so firmly in the abyss when he returns. His mother kisses him and says she’ll return with a supper for them to share in the evening. She arranges his curls, kisses his cheeks, and takes her leave, perfume lingering in the room like a lovely ghost long after.  

He brought his sack of Jotun books with him and sits cross-legged by Thor’s hips, reading and looking up frequently to see if Thor's eyes h ave opened. Hours pass but Thor never moves.

The doorknob turns and Loki freezes.  

Odin walks in quietly and leans over Thor, listening to his heart and his breathing. He straightens Thor’s hair with careful fingers and takes the seat Frigga left by the bedside. Loki wants very much to drag said seat out into the hall and dump its contents on the cold stone floor, but he resists. Just. It has occurred to him that Odin may have banished him in part to protect him from Thanos, and Loki is furious at the possibility. 

“I’m sorry,” Odin says, eye locked on Thor’s face, and Loki isn’t sure which one of them he’s addressing.   

Odin sighs and leans back in the chair.  

“My vision is as incomplete as one would expect in a man with one eye.”  

Loki tries to will his limbs to relax before Odin continues.  

“Your mother sees all that was, is, and will be. I can see all that is only from Hlidskjalf, and in my mind I catch fragments of what will be. But they come without context, and often afford me little time to make sense of them. When I found you on the ice, I got a glimpse of you at Thor’s side. You were much as you are now. Walking through a wood with a bow over your shoulder, water shining between the trees.”  

“That was the third of my nine days here in the spring,” Loki says, almost to himself.  

“Was it? You both looked like the Ljosalfar,” Odin murmurs, and shakes his head to collect himself. “So I knew you were meant to live. But I couldn’t see how you’d ever get to Asgard if I left you on the ice. I reasoned you were meant to be brothers.”  

Loki nods.  

“Your mother was delighted when I brought you home. She snatched you from my hands as though she had been waiting for you, so I knew I had done something right. But when I said we’d raise you as our own, her face fell. She said nothing, of course, for she cannot.”  

Loki scowls.  

“What are the terms of the magic that governs her sight?” Loki asks.  

“She can see everything that has and will come to pass as long as she never speaks of it.”  

“And if she does speak of it?”  

“She loses all foresight, and all memory of what she has seen.”  

Loki smiles.  

“What has you so pleased?”  

“She still has her vision?”  

“Yes,” Odin confirms.

“Then all she has seen is, at least, bearable to her. If it were otherwise, she could escape it.”  

Odin nods.  

“Things could only ever go as they have, but I think she had hoped that I would cheat the Norns somehow,” Odin sighs. “I still cannot see the path she would have preferred.”  

"He would have it no other way, I think,” Loki says, looking at Thor. “And I suppose I would agree. I cannot cast aside our brotherhood. It might, perhaps, make life easier, but emptier, too.”  

Odin nods. Silence creeps back into the room and Loki loses patience with it.  

“Have you spoken with Farbauti?” Loki asks.  

“Not yet. After so much meddling with Jotunheim I thought it best to give them a break from us.”  

“Probably true,” Loki admits. “But I think it would be wise to forge a solid peace with them before Thor takes the throne.”  

“We shall,” is all Odin says before he rises and leaves them. 

Loki stretches out to sleep while he waits for Frigga. He takes comfort in the thought that if Odin were wholly without virtue, his mother wouldn’t have married him. And if the All-Father has sense enough to love her, he can’t be a complete fool. But he walks a fine line, Loki grumbles.  

Frigga wakes him gently and they dine. They speak of Jotunheim, and he tells her of Farbauti’s city and seidr. The beautiful cemetery. She may know it all already, but she loves to see it through her son’s eyes.  

He sleeps with Thor’s fingers linked in his. 

In the morning, he sends for a basin of hot water and a basket of towels, bathing his brother carefully. Thor has no discernible injuries to his body beyond the neck wound. Loki’s spells weren’t entirely useless. He throws more logs on the fire so Thor won’t be chilled after his bath and climbs back into bed, tucking the sheet around them. It’s early. Halldis won’t be in to check on Thor for at least an hour.  

“You were smelling ripe, Prince Peach, so I had to wash you,” Loki whispers, nosing Thor’s armpit and sighing happily.  

He wakes to Thor’s voice.  

“It wasn’t a dream,” Thor rasps, grimacing.

"Norns, you’re awake. Hold still, you ass, and don’t speak.”  

“You’re back,” Thor breathes.  

“Shhhhh. Yes, and you’re half dead from the hole in your neck.”  

Thor’s fingers reach for his throat and Loki arrests his hand before it makes a mess of the wound.  

“Be still,” Loki begs, and rises from the bed.  

Thor’s arms try to follow him, trailing through the air, fingers waving.  

“I’m right here. Just ringing the bell,” Loki explains. "Hold still, dammit.”  

Thor pats the bed beside him and Loki stretches out there. Thor’s arm snakes around him and Loki kisses his temple.  

“Just rest,” Loki murmurs.  

Halldis comes and gives Thor broth and slivers of Idunn’s apples. She instructs him in the care of his current self.  

“Don’t move from the bed, don’t touch your neck, and don’t turn your head. But eat, drink, and sleep all you like, lad,” she says, smiling down at him.  

Thor sighs, a pout gracing his face.  

Halldis leaves to send word to the king and queen. In the meantime, Loki leans over to press kisses to Thor’s chapped lips. Thor rumbles his approval and nips at Loki’s mouth, hand sliding up to cup the back of Loki’s neck. Possessive caresses glide low on Thor’s belly until the hand behind them comes to rest on the prominence of a hipbone. The sense of relief coursing through them puts them both to sleep. They start from their napping when they hear the door open. Thor’s arm tightens around Loki’s shoulder in a silent plea for continued proximity.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” Loki soothes.  

Frigga is leaning over Thor and stroking his hair back. The bed dips as Odin sits by Thor’s feet and rests a hand on his ankle.  

“You gave us such a fright,” Frigga scolds.  

“Sorry,” Thor breathes, but Frigga just shakes her head and kisses him.  

She lets out a shaky breath.  

“How much can you eat?” she asks.  

“Quite a lot,” Thor grins. 

The days pass in a blur of sleeping and feeding Thor up. If Loki is wakeful he reads about Jotunheim. At one point Halldis wants to test Thor’s progress. She and Loki are poised, ready to catch Thor, as he attempts to stand. As expected, he loses consciousness as soon as he becomes vertical. They snatch him up and set him back in bed.  

A week after the battle, Thor shakes Loki awake in the middle of the night.  

“What’s wrong?” Loki asks, voice fearful.

“Nothing. Sorry. I just remembered. Do my friends on Midgard know I’m well?”  

“Shit,” Loki mutters. “No. Sorry, love.”

“Will you send word to them?”

“Aye. In the morning. I’ll go.” 

Frigga comes to watch over Thor while Loki’s away. His mother and brother give him advice on not angering the mortals.  

Loki opts to meet with the man least likely to involve the authorities. Thor tells him he has chosen wisely.   

Thor knows Stark likes his brother. Likes his ego. His pride. His fearlessness. His willingness to fail. He finds the god of mischief weirdly human. 

Loki arrives at Stark Tower early on a Thursday afternoon. He carries a white flag and an olive branch at his mother’s suggestion and wears a white tunic with pale grey leggings and a matching cloak. Fur trim on his boots and hood. A sack slung over his shoulder.  

Pepper is on the sofa reading and sees him on the balcony. Is he in a Santa Claus costume? She sets her open book in her lap.  

Jarvis assesses that Loki is no threat and opts to let the god’s presence come as a surprise to Mr. Stark.  

When Loki walks through the glass, Pepper’s eyebrows rise, so he holds his flag and olive branch higher before he drops to one knee and bows. 

“Pardon my intrusion, lady. I come at my brother’s request.”  

He sets the bag on the coffee table and the branch and flag vanish, which Pepper finds less than reassuring. She watches him closely. Paler and thinner than he was in the most recent footage Tony caught of him. Tired. He cleans up well, though, she notes, watching black curls bounce at his cheeks.  

“Gifts from Thor,” Loki explains. “Take care with the mead. It is strong.”  

“How is he?”  

“He is… weak. The wound has closed, but he lost so much blood… He cannot yet stand without fainting. But he will mend - that is my message - the worst is behind him.”  

“How long until he’s back to normal?”  

“It’s difficult to gauge. He has been ill only once before.”  

Pepper’s eyes widen at that.  

“What happened then?” she asks.   

Loki sighs.  

“He went with me to an old swamp. I was looking for a strange plant to put in a potion. A snake bit him. Latched on to his ankle and wouldn’t let go. Then it went limp and died, finally dropping off. Like fools, we laughed. We’d both had our share of snake bites before. At most, we’d get some swelling, or a headache. The scoldings we’d receive from our father for failing to watch where we were going were always far worse than the bites.”  

He smiles and she returns it.  

“But then he stumbled. He was struggling to breathe and going blind. And we were so far from home. I screamed for help until hoarse. Tied off his leg and sucked at the wound. Felt my mouth go numb. Odin came and carried Thor away. I rode home with our horses. He was nearly dead when I got back. Cold and unmoving. The snake pours its own death out into its bite.”  

Pepper curses softly and Loki remembers himself.

“He didn’t stir for well over a week then, and was weary for a month after. This is different. He lost all the blood he could spare, and it is taking him a long time to replace it. But he is breathing and speaking and daily improving. No permanent damage.”    

She nods and he swallows thickly.

“That is quite beautiful,” he says, and she knits her brow, puzzled. “The poem you’re reading,” he clarifies. “Who is George Felton Mathew?”  

She looks down at her book.

“Keats’s friend,” she answers.

“And who is Keats?  

She bites her lip and pats the sofa beside her. 

At one point Tony comes in and makes a funny little ah sound. Loki turns his head and lifts an eyebrow at him. Pepper smiles and asks if he needs help with something. Tony purses his lips, shakes his head, turns, and goes back to the kitchen to work on dinner and have a chat with Jarvis.  

Pepper and Loki return to the book.  

An hour later, Tony comes back with drinks.  

“Bird’s resting. You’re staying for dinner, Sandman. Happy Thanksgiving.”  

“I beg your pardon,” Loki says.  

“It’s a… local holiday-“  

"Oh. My apologies for the intrusion,” Loki says, primarily to Pepper.  

“It’s fine,” Pepper insists.  

“So, Thor’s okay?” Tony asks.  

“He will be,” Loki answers.  

“You don’t have to drive that thing you use to get here, do you?” Pepper asks.  

“The Bifrost. No, it-“

“Great! Let’s open these bottles.”   

She strides off toward the kitchen and Loki looks to Tony, who shrugs and takes the cloak from his shoulders as they follow her.  

After dinner, they collapse on the sofa with more mead.  

“You and Thor should come for Christmas,” Stark says, and Loki laughs.  

“It is much like our Jul, is it not?”  

Stark stares.

“They are closely related,” Jarvis answers.  

“Fill us in, Jarvis,” Tony says, sinking into his seat.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Pepper murmurs, and Loki is impressed by how well she’s holding up under the wine; speech clear and limbs graceful.  

Tony, Jarvis, and Loki are discussing customs, histories, myths, and the places they intersect when Pepper returns, arms cradling a stack of books.  

“So, you guys’ll come?" Stark asks.  

“I shall certainly relay your invitation, but I can offer only a tentative yes, as it’s dependent upon Thor’s health. I’m hopeful the occasion will motivate him to heal.”  

“Regrets only; if you can’t make it, tell us. Otherwise, see you in thirty days. Do your shopping, see the city, pack a disguise, save Thor from cabin fever. It’ll be fun.”  

Loki shakes his head.  

“You are brave. Or foolish. I’ve always found the two indistinguishable,” he says, rising. “My thanks for your hospitality. The meal was lovely, as was the company,” Loki adds, with a bow to Pepper.   

“Try these,” she says, handing him her pile of books, which he shrinks down to nearly nothing and slips into his pocket  

“I shall. Thank you, lady,” he tells her, and kisses her hand before he vanishes.

“Methinks the God of Mischief has a thing for m’lady,” Tony teases.  

“If you think I have a shot with him, I’m totally going for it,” she says.  

“Jarvis, get me some pearls so I can clutch them.”  

“You know you have nothing to worry about,” she soothes, and he puts an arm around her, “… because there is no way Thor would ever share him.”  

Tony buries her in sofa cushions.


	18. Winter

With Halldis’s help, Loki manages to make it through his week of bleeding without ruining any clothes or sheets, which he counts as a victory. The little cushions she gives him are unpleasant, nevertheless, and they force him to wear smallclothes, which he hates. When he has time to tinker, he fully intends to devise an improvement. The potion she provides for the pain, however, is perfect, and he gives her a necklace and earrings from his Svartalfheim haul in gratitude.

Thor is excited about Stark’s invitation. Loki is pleased that it seems to have restored Thor’s appetite: he eats like an army. Loki tries not to grin too stupidly at the sight and is mostly successful.  

He reads Pepper’s books aloud to Thor and ends up duplicating them, for the words make Thor hum and purr and he asks to hear many of the poems a second or third time.  

They lavish gentle affections on each other. Neither can keep their hands out of the other’s hair, their fingers are most often entwined, and the smacking of kisses fills the little room. But the door here has no lock, and visits from healers and parents are frequent. They are careful of their privacy.   

At night they know they’ll be alone and they roll to face each other. They drink deeply of each other’s lips and draw shuddering breaths from pale breasts. Loki’s cock aches where it presses Thor’s hip, but Thor’s prick sleeps. Each morning Loki watches to see if Thor gets an erection - his oldest gauge of his brother’s health - but he’s always disappointed. His own thighs are constantly glazed with the wetness teased from his slit by Thor’s moans.   

Loki still hasn’t told his brother about his body. He doesn’t know where to begin. He’s tempted to leave a Jotun medical text open to a very blunt page, but it seems a cruel and cowardly way to go about it. 

Thor is allowed up on his feet mid December. He tires easily. In the afternoons Loki takes him out for walks on his arm. Each day they go farther than the last, and at a better pace. When Thor can finally manage the distance, Loki takes him to the stables. He bundles Thor up in a woolen tunic of a heavy gauge, knitted by Frigga nearly a century ago. Then he drapes him in a cloak and winds scarves about his throat until Thor bats him away, chuckling.  

It’s chilly, but the sun is high. Steam puffs from their noses. Loki drags a box out into the paddock and Thor sits on it, smiling, as he is swarmed by horses. They butt his shoulders and mouth his hair while he tickles their necks and pets their snouts.   

They stay until sunset and help to herd the animals in for the night. Most go willingly, knowing oats await them, but a few are contrary and Thor tires himself out chasing them. Loki puts an end to it with a wall of clones, walking toward the barn in a row, driving the horses before them. He seats his exhausted brother on Sleipnir’s back and leads them deep into the palace, to the amusement of the pages and the concern of those who polish the floors. Loki is tempted to glamour a trail of dung through the halls behind them, but doesn’t want anyone to think poorly of his horse. Perhaps I’ll leave one in Odin’s wake instead, he muses. 

Loki compounds and tests dozens salves with the intention of smoothing the scar on Thor’s neck. His final iteration of the unguent is so effective it heals the scratch he makes in his own flesh within minutes, leaving no evidence of the wound. When he rubs the excess off on the back of his hand it renders his skin as smooth as a babe’s. He kneads some into the other hand to keep himself symmetrical. Its effect on Thor’s neck isn’t the instantaneous perfection Loki was hoping for, but he suspects repeated applications will be beneficial. The skin is still twisted and red. Every time Loki sees it his guts quake, but he never lets his  shock reach his face, not wanting Thor to feel self-conscious. 

He takes Thor to the mineral baths down the hall and sits by the edge, braiding his hair where it spills over.   

“Will you cut it for me?”  

“Hmmm? What, your hair?” Loki asks, distracted, for Thor is wet and naked, and it has been far too long.  

“Aye. It catches under my shoulders when I lie down. It’s a nuisance.”

Loki wants to argue that it’s also lovely, but he can’t deny that his long hair was irritating. Whipping him in the eye. Obscuring his view. Getting tied in knots.  

“How short would you like it?”  

“I don’t know. Just tie it at my nape and shear off all but an inch of what sticks out of the tie. We can always take off more later. And shave my beard, too, if you would.”  

Loki takes Thor’s beard off with seidr, not liking the thought of sharp steel at his brother’s throat. He leaves the spell in place, wanting to find out how long Thor will be willing to go bare-faced.  

After Thor’s bath they walk to Loki’s room. Thor sits and Loki combs his hair for him. It’s relaxing for both of them, and it’s a relief to Thor to be back in this hall with his brother.  Loki secures the hair with two cords two inches apart, plaits the rest, and ties off the end. He finds a sharp knife and slices through the hair between the two ties at the top. He’s left with a tidy blond braid. He puts it in a box on his shelves.  

“More gold for your collection, magpie?” Thor teases.  

“Aye. Now I just need a box big enough for the rest of you.”  

Thor pulls Loki down onto his lap and slips his hands up his tunic, gripping his waist and making Loki hum. Loki removes the remaining tie and runs his fingers through Thor’s cropped hair. It makes Thor look so young. He tucks the strands behind Thor’s ears, then sighs.  

“Halldis said you’re not to strain yourself, and I don’t relish the thought of explaining these circumstances to her… though I suspect she already knows. Still. I’ve no intention of drawing her ire.”  

“Kiss me. I promise I’ll be fine,” Thor murmurs, lips at Loki’s neck.  

“All right,” Loki says, standing up and making Thor scowl at the loss of contact. “But get in my bed. If you do faint and tip over I’ll not have you landing on a stone floor.”  

Thor goes happily, sitting in the center of the bed, patting the tops of his thighs until Loki resumes his position there.  

Thor’s hands sneak back under Loki’s tunic and knead his waist while he mouths the fragile skin of Loki’s neck. His lips creep up, inch by inch, until they’re grasping an earlobe. Then they follow the edge of the jaw, shoving it up and back as they go, until they wrap around the chin. His hands glide all the way up Loki’s shirt and grip his shoulder blades while his forearms press along the ribs, pulling Loki flush against him as Thor’s head tips and drops, letting his mouth stretch wide over Loki’s bared throat. Loki grinds his hips into Thor’s belly and they both moan.  

Loki is hard and wet and ecstatic and terrified. He’s not ready. And Thor’s cock is soft between them; he is not as well as he wants to be.  

He nips Thor’s ear and squeezes his arms, sliding his hands up to the shoulders and down the front, fingertips hooking on the collarbones. He rubs the tips of their noses together and leans in, pressing his lips to Thor’s while thumbing Thor’s nipples. Thor catches Loki’s lips with his own, pressing them until he grows too hungry and sucks them hard enough to mark. Loki hums into Thor's mouth as they slot together, jaws stretched to admit the stroke of tongues. They do this until they grow too warm and are forced to retreat from the heated air that’s pouring out of their lungs and onto their skin. They flop down on the bed, side by side, holding each other’s hands and panting.  

“What’s wrong?” Thor asks.  

“I should be making you rest. The more you sleep, the sooner you’ll mend. I want you well, love.”  

“I know. I feel almost like myself. But it’s exhausting doing nothing all day.”  

“I know,” Loki laughs. “But you’ll have to do better if you expect Halldis to let you visit your friends on Midgard for their Jul. And try think of gifts. You should bake some bread for them.”  

Thor sighs and stands. He sees the hand in its gauntlet, still frozen in Jotun ice on Loki’s table.  

“What will you do with that?” Thor asks.  

Loki shakes his head.  

“It screams with magic. And power. Too much of it. It’s cacophonous and ugly. It nearly renders life meaningless. I will unmake  the thing. You know I much prefer destruction to creation,” Loki says, winking.


	19. Jul

When Thor asks Halldis if he’s fit enough to visit Midgard she opts to torture him, hemming and hawing, grimacing and grunting, and shaking her head before her will finally breaks and she titters.

“Yes, dearie, see your friends,” she says.

Loki packs gifts and Thor bakes bread. They arrive in Stark’s tower on Saturday morning.  

“Jarvis?” Loki asks, “What shall we do with ourselves?”

“Miss Potts will meet you here in three minutes.”  

They can hear Pepper’s bare feet on the hard floor as she gets closer.  

“Miss Potts,” they greet, bowing.   

“Call me Pepper,” she says, looking for bags to take and not seeing any. Thor has a basket with a bunch of linen bundles in it. He sees her eyeing it and explains.  

“I baked some bread for supper.”  

“Oooo, excellent. Thank you. Come with me, guys, Tony has a room for you.”  

She chats as they follow her, ponytail swaying in front of them.   

“Thor, you’re looking good. How are you feeling?”  

“Much better thank you.”  

“I have things planned for us but feel free to object or add to them as you see fit.”  

She shows them into a room with dark wood floors and white walls. On the island of a thick rug rests a large leather couch, tufted and shining, the two chairs that face it, and the low table between. It has maps of the city and books of poetry resting on it. There’s a kitchenette on one wall, an array of fruit and pop-tarts on the counter. Another wall is composed entirely of window and affords an excellent view. To the right there’s a large bookshelf that shields a bed and some cabinets beyond, and there’s a bathroom door at the far wall.  

“This is lovely, thank you,” Loki says, and Thor nods his agreement.   

“You’re very welcome,” she smiles and turns to the wall that hosts the door through which they entered. She slides open a panel  and reveals a closet, stocked with clothes for each of them.

“Tony thought it might be best if you try to blend in when I take you out.”  

“That is likely wise,” Thor says, uncertain of how the rest of Midgard perceives his brother.  

“Is there a way I might exchange my coin for Midgard’s?” Loki asks.  

“Jarvis?” Pepper says.  

“May I see your currency, please?” Jarvis asks.  

Loki takes gold coins from his pocket.  

“I can get you cash for those and I’ll hold on to them in case you wish to exchange them again when you go home,” he answers.

Thank you,” Loki says.

“I’ll give you an hour to get settled and we’ll head out.” 

Pepper takes Thor’s bread back to the main kitchen with her and barely resists eating it. She likes that an all-seeing all-knowing disembodied voice doesn’t worry these guests in the least. She wonders if it makes them feel at home. 

Their own clothes are still strange to this realm, though they did try to dress plainly. Loki is in buckskin trousers, a white linen tunic, and low boots. Thor wears leather leggings the color of pecans and a dark grey tunic devoid of embroidery. They have their tops untucked to cover the laces on their bottoms, but they still look a bit fey for Midgard.    

Loki wonders if he’s meant to sleep on the couch. Perhaps they don’t think he sleeps. Midgard has never seen him at rest. Surely they don’t know I’ve been sharing a bed with Thor, he thinks, nervous.  

He brings their bags back up to size and puts their things away in the cupboards while Thor grabs some pop-tarts and sprawls on the couch devouring the maps.   

Loki looks through the closets and picks clothes for them, opting for dark grey wool trousers and a matching button down shirt for himself. For Thor he wants softness still. He finds thick cotton pants of deep blue and a knit shirt. He grabs a bulkier cabled knit to put over it. There are heavy wool jackets for the chilly winter air. They can wear their own scarves. 

Pepper knocks on the door and trades cash for Loki’s coins. 

They shop for hours. Pepper watches them closely. Loki gravitates toward clothes, books, bedding, and rugs. Thor is drawn primarily to books and food, but will occasionally look at some unexpectedly elegant thing. Most often that thing is his brother. Pepper tries not to grin. Loki shrinks all their purchases to nearly nothing and puts them in one bag. Thor smiles at the colorful window displays and takes Loki’s arm.  

“Are you getting tired?” Loki asks.  

“Yes,” Thor lies, grinning, and Loki rolls his eyes, but lets Thor keep his arm.  

They head back at dusk. Pepper and Loki talk poetry on the couch while Thor slumps against Loki’s shoulder napping.   

Tony calls them in to dinner and Loki nearly groans his relief when he sees that there’s enough food to fill the abyss of his brother's belly.  

“How ya feeling, He-Man?” Tony asks, squeezing Thor’s shoulders as he passes behind him before taking a seat at the table.  

“I am well, thank y-“  

“He’s nearly well,” Loki interrupts, and serves Tony a bit of everything.  

"Nearly? What’s wrong with me?” Thor asks, eyebrows raised.  

“Don’t tempt me,” Loki warns, smirking at him, and goes back to his dinner.  

Tony and Pepper share a quick glance and widen their eyes at each other, but they keep eating and try not to smile too obviously.  

“Halldis said I was well. Is there something you can see that she cannot?” Thor asks. “She is older than we are, brother, and far more experienced.”  

“With healing, yes, but not with you.”  

“What does that mean?”  

“Thor,” Loki sighs.  

“Enlighten me.”  

“You haven’t yet recovered.”  

“She said I had.”

“She hasn’t watched you for a thousand years, though, has she? She healed all she could, and it was much, and you are mending-“  

“Mended.”  

"No. I could, at any time in our long lives, pick you out of an army by the thudding of your heart. It has changed. Can you not hear it?”  

“What are you talking about?”  

“Your pulse is high. Tell me why that is.”

“What?”  

“Why is your heart beating so fast?”  

“Because you are infuriating?”

Even Loki laughs at this, eyes sparkling, head tossed back. He recovers and shakes his head.  

“When you sleep it remains elevated.”  

“I must be dreaming of you. Halldis said it sounded good.”

“It does. You are nearly well. Healthy, by any standard, but you are not yet yourself. Your heart must work harder because it has less help. You are still short a bit of blood.”  

“You know how much blood is in my veins, do you?”  

“Mmmm. To the drop.”  

“You jest.”

“I wish I did, love,” Loki says, and then winces at the slip.  

Tony’s composure finally cracks and he laughs.  

“You two don’t have to pretend you’re not wildly in love with each other around us,” Stark says.  

"What?" Loki sputters, but Thor just grins.

“Oh, I’m on to you, Avatar,” Tony says to Loki. “You came out of nowhere -  possibly literally - and Thanos didn’t know what hit him. And you were all blue and Thor was all red and then you went back to a whiter shade of pale and he grabbed you by the hair and kissed you for about an hour-“  

"Norns. Who else knows?” Loki asks, horrified, his face buried in his hands.   

“Well, Pepper and Jarvis, for sure, because Jarvis recorded it and I played it for Pepper since she totally called it-“  

“Mmmm. You owe me for that,” Pepper reminds him.  

“Have you decided what you want?” Tony asks.   

“Still thinking,” she says sweetly.  

“Did you bet him ‘anything’?” Thor asks, leaning in, and she nods, grinning.   

Thor laughs and Tony continues.

“And Cap was standing right next to me, but you don’t have to worry about him - he can’t even think about it without blushing and excusing himself from the room - it’s fantastic. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, it’s nobody’s business but yours.”  

Loki is sitting with wide eyes. Thor is still smiling at Pepper.  

“What gave us away?” Thor asks her.

“Well, for starters, he picked Earth, of all places. Twice. Knowing it would get your attention. And, in all the footage Tony has, the way you two look at each other is… something. You might wanna… tone that down when you’re out in public. If privacy is a concern.”  

Thor chuckles and Loki wants to strangle him.  

"My concern,” Tony says, “is with S.H.I.E.L.D. trying to get samples of you. And succeeding. I burned all the blood Thor lost.”  

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs, slowly coming back to himself.  

“Can you show me Loki’s battle?” Thor asks.

“Thought you’d never ask.”  

Loki groans.  

After dinner, Tony has Jarvis play the video of the attack. 

Loki pales, seeing Thor fall. Seeing himself arriving mere seconds too late all over again. Knowing that if he had been any later, Thor would be dead.  

Thor watches, critiquing his own performance and praising Loki’s. Shouting when the handle of his hammer smashes Loki’s lovely fingers.  

“She came to you,” Thor gasps.

“Aye,” Loki sighs.  

“Who are we talking about?” Tony asks.

“Mjolnir,” Thor answers. “My hammer. She has only answered to myself and my father.” Thor turns to Loki. “Does she still heed you?”  

“I know not.”  

“Call her.”  

"No. And don’t you do it, either. She doesn’t use the doors, Thor, she’ll smash her way here. Leave our hosts’ house in one piece, please.”  

“Can you hear her singing?”  

“Yes. And her voice sours my stomach. I thought you dead when she came, do you understand? I called magic, not her, specifically, and when she landed in my hand I thought-” Loki shakes his head and his jaw goes tight.  

“I’m sorry about your fingers,” Thor murmurs. “She broke mine, too, when she was new to me.”  

“So,” Pepper says, more than ready to be finished with watching fingers break, “Cake or ice cream for dessert?”  

“What is ice cream?” Thor asks.  

“A necessity,” Pepper says, and goes to fill some bowls. 

Tony wanders off to the lab and Pepper puts on a film called “The Fountain.” The brothers sit, entranced. At first Thor frets that a man drifting through the stars with the husk of his love might disturb his brother, but he decides it will do Loki good to think on mortality.  

Afterward, Thor looks tired, and Loki knows the idiot will never admit it, so he says he’s tired instead.  

“If there’s anything you guys need, just ask Jarvis,” Pepper says, and they thank her. “We’re doing our big holiday party tomorrow since everyone will be with their families on Christmas eve and Christmas day. I’m hoping you guys will be joining us. It’ll be later. Seven-ish. Music, food, drinks, dancing - that sort of thing.”  

“We’ll be there,” Thor says, and Loki inwardly cringes.

“Excellent. You’re sort of on your own tomorrow, but I’ll be around.”

“Thank you. Goodnight,” Loki says with a faint bow, and leads Thor down the hall.

Thor’s already showered and fallen asleep when there’s a faint knock on the door. Loki answers. Pepper has a stack of books.

“Thought you might enjoy these. Poetry again. I don’t need them back any time soon.”  

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” Loki murmurs.  

“See you tomorrow,” she smiles. 

Loki reads until he grows restless. 

At two in the morning Tony goes to make a smoothie and finds Loki standing in the dark, staring out the window.   

“Why aren’t you with Thor?” Tony asks.  

Loki says nothing.  

“Were breathtaking blonds just a millennium-long phase?” Tony teases.  

Loki turns to stare at him.  

“Come on, man. He’s been looking at you like a fox looks at chickens. What’s the problem?”  

"Me," Loki whispers. “I cannot burden him with this. The things I’ve done - the things I  will do. The doubt and distrust. And incest, of all things. I do love him, you know.”

“Thor’s a big boy. He can make his own choices.” Tony pauses, narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “But he’s already chosen, hasn't he? And he picked you. So, what’s the real reason?”   

Tony waits for Loki’s answer. Loki shifts his skin, but Tony has seen this before, albeit briefly, so he only shrugs.  

“You have a term. Frostbite, I believe?” Loki says. “This is worse.”  

“It saved his life,” Tony shoots back.  

“Yes. The Norns are terribly amusing. That is only half of it.”  

“What’s the rest?”  

Loki shakes his head.  

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure Thor’s policy is to let you get away with anything, up to and including murder - not hyperbole, there. So quit worrying. You’re wearing him out. And it’s wrecking your complexion, Madame X.”  

Loki rolls his eyes.  

“Jarvis, who is Madame X?”

In the end, Loki decides to trust Stark’s judgement - the mortal is smarter than he looks - and his brother’s stubbornness. He undresses and showers before climbing carefully into bed, trying not to disrupt Thor’s sleep. It doesn’t work; Thor is awake and wrapped around him almost instantly. Loki smiles and kisses him and lights the room with seidr.  

Thor’s hair is mussed and his skin still smells sweet from the soaps he used. And he’s so warm, draped half over Loki, face nestled in the pale curve of his neck.  

“I told you my friends would be kind to us, brother.”  

“Yes, it warms the cockles of my Jotun heart.”   

They try their best to scowl at each other but within seconds their resolve crumbles and they’re giggling. Thor’s grin soon sobers into a furrowed brow and bitten lip.  

“Oh dear,” Loki murmurs. “Look what I’ve done. I’ve said something that’s set the brute to thinking. Don’t strain yourself, darling.  It will come in its own time.”

Thor digs his chin into Loki’s pectoral and elicits a yelp.  

“Have you learned anything of Jotun medicine? Or anatomy? Diet? Customs? How they raise their children?”  

“Hmmm. So I have set you to thinking,” Loki sighs, shooing Thor off and turning so they’re lying face to face.   

Loki props his head up with his left arm while his right comes up to play with Thor’s hair, and Thor knows his brother is lost in his own mind for the moment. Loki will still play with his own hair when he is fretting about something, but lately he prefers Thor’s when he can get it. Thor’s right arm is folded awkwardly between them, fingertips resting on Loki’s chest, and his left arm is low around Loki’s back, pulling him close and rubbing soothingly. Loki allows it.  

He takes his hand from Thor’s hair and lowers it to entwine their fingers before taking a slow breath.  

“I don’t know that anything I’ve learned would even be relevant,” is all he says for for several minutes. “What made you ask? My ’Jotun heart’ comment?”

“Mmm, it reminded me. I’ve wondered if we failed your body.”  

“Do you find fault with my form, Thor?” Loki is only teasing him, but Thor is squeezing his fingers and shaking his head in vehement denial.  

“No! I merely meant-“   

Loki laughs and leans in to kiss him and Thor softens.   

“Do not twist my words. You know they are mangled enough by the time they pass my lips. It’s merely that, even in your Jotun skin, you are small and rather… smooth for a Frost Giant,” and there Thor frowns at his wording, but soldiers on. “Were you starving in Asgard? I can’t imagine we fed you properly. And it gets so warm…” Thor trails off and Loki takes pity on him.  

“I’m sorry, that was unkind, but I couldn’t resist. You’re so pretty when you’re being earnest.”   

Thor attempts to glare at him, but his eyes are soft and he still has questions.  

“Why would what you’ve learned not be relevant?” Thor asks gently.  

“Frost Giants aren’t typically raised in Aesir skin on Asgard by the All-Father. I’m certain Odin’s magic and life there impacted my growth in some way,” and Thor tenses before Loki adds, “For the better, I think. The heat should have bothered me, but it was never really an issue. I didn’t feel ill growing up if that’s what you’re worried about.” Thor’s forehead smooths. “Have you ever seen Jotun mothers or children?” Loki asks, voice a whisper.  

“Never,” Thor admits.  

Loki takes a moment to order his thoughts, takes a deep breath, and prays to Frigga to give him strength.  

“Mmmm. There’s a good reason for that. Since Jotunheim’s defeat, all the babes born have been runts. It seems I started a trend."  

Thor squeezes his fingers, smiling tightly, and Loki continues.   

“When Laufey took the Casket away to war, he weakened his land, his people, his very pregnant spouse. And the realms saw that it was a weapon, where before it had been known only vaguely, and only as a boon to Jotunheim.”  

“So father took it,” Thor finishes. His eyes are unfocussed and glassy. He is riding Loki’s voice.  

“Aye. And me with it. Not all the babes were so lucky. Many were left to the ice to starve, and those who would save them were slaughtered or bound with ugly magic to stop them interfering. Laufey’s followers were so proud they would rather see their kind vanish than change.”  

Loki shakes his head in disbelief before continuing.   

“So the the sensible giants left, heartsick at seeing their babes given over to death. They saw that their world had changed and  they adapted. They have strong magic. Laufey’s mate leads them. Helblindi would be wise to beg forgiveness and join Farbauti.”

“Will that day ever come?”  

“I know not. Farbauti’s numbers far surpass those of the late king’s followers. The Frost Giants we fought at Laufey’s palace were letting themselves die out. Their ranks never grew after the war and our battle. They wouldn’t risk giving rise to more runts.”  

Loki sighs and snuggles closer.  

“When the Jotnar are with child, they hide away and do little but eat and sleep. Their mates bring them so much food even Volstagg would be sated. He would be heartbroken at not having been born Jotun if he only knew.”  

Thor smiles and hums. Loki steels himself.  

“You’ve never seen a Giantess…”  

Thor shakes his head in agreement.  

“Nor have you seen a Giant.”

Now he looks to Loki, puzzled.  

“The Jotnar are of one sex, though they come in many shapes and sizes.”  

Thor’s lips part slowly but he makes no sound.  

“And to answer your question about diet, they eat quite a lot of fish, which I’ve never liked,” Loki finishes, in a rush. 

Thor is quiet for a long time, but his hand never falters in its motion at the small of Loki’s back. 

“Did I hurt you?” Thor finally says.  

“What? When?” Loki asks.  

“When we laid together. Did I damage you?”  

“No. Never.”  

Thor exhales and sags in relief. 

“Odin’s grip on me was strong. All those years and I had no idea. His magic left my body when his spell took me out of the realms. That was when I found out. There is no mention of it in any scroll or tome in Asgard’s libraries,” Loki shakes his head. “We know nothing of Jotunheim.” 

Thor nods.   

“Are you no longer the same person?” Thor murmurs, and closes his eyes. “Do you no longer want me?”  

“I am myself, as ever. Only I know it now. And I will never stop wanting you. It’s the reverse that I fear.”  

Thor’s eyes shoot open and he looks at Loki, baffled and a touch insulted.  

“I can’t change back,” Loki whispers. “I’ve tried. I can shift the skin, but not the shape. When I try, the pain-“  

“Stop trying!” Thor yelps. "Norns, you are a stubborn thing.”  

"I’m stubborn?” Loki asks, trying for stern, but sounding amused in spite of his efforts.  

“You can be a Bilgesnipe and I will love you, as long as you are Loki.”  

“Fool.”  

Thor tugs him closer.  

“Will you stay right here and sleep?” Thor asks. “You look so tired, love.”

Loki nods and Thor wraps him up in his arms.  

They are still tangled tightly together when Loki wakes. Thor’s cock is full and warm against his hip and Loki thanks the Norns elaborately, and by name, for granting his wish.  

Thor wakes and stretches, groaning all the while, before collapsing with a contented sigh and a kiss to Loki’s nose. He punctuates it with a sleepy smile. The one that Loki would follow anywhere. My undoing, Loki thinks fondly, and leans forward for another kiss.  

Another kiss, becomes dozens of kisses, some sustained for several minutes. Their necks are strewn with purple blossoms. They’re both hard and leaking against each other's bellies, fingers threading through hair, arms clutching tightly. They kick the blankets down when they start to sweat. Thor's leg is over Loki’s hip and he’s curling his pelvis up, trying to get the head of Loki’s cock against his hole.   

“There’s oil in my bag,” Thor whispers, and Loki groans where his lips are stretched against the scar on his brother’s neck, sending sound as bright as a bell ringing through Thor’s nerves.  

Loki scrambles away and rifles through Thor’s things until his fingers touch smooth glass. When he turns around, Thor is on his back with his thighs parted, and if there’s anyone in all these realms who can resist that, then Loki wants to shake their hand and slit their throat.  

He slicks Thor up first, watching him thrust into the fingers that encircle him, as though his body is enthralled. Perhaps it is, Loki thinks. Surely there is seidr in those hips. He spreads oil along his own length and his slit clenches and leaks at the attention.   

“Bring your legs up for me, love,” Loki coaxes, and swirls oil over Thor’s opening with the pad of his thumb, feeling it twitch at the touch.  

He wipes his hand on his belly and crawls up the bed, hips dropping as he goes, until their breasts are drumming against each other and  his cock is bobbing between Thor’s legs. Each brush of his prick against the little wrinkled spot makes Thor’s stomach roll beneath him. Loki leans over on one elbow and fists his own cock, steadying it. Thor nods and Loki pushes forward. He feels Thor  flexing and then he’s sliding through the tight tunnel of flesh as his brother’s head falls back and his hands come up to cup Loki's a ss, pressing their hips flush against each other. 

The susurrus of shallow breathing is all they hear. Thor’s right hand slides up to draw something at the small of Loki’s back. No, Loki realizes, not a drawing… it’s a spell, and his hips jerk as his breath hitches. He closes his eyes, focussing on the design to decipher the seidr. A shield. Protection. He wants dissolve into the air and drift into Thor’s chest one breath at a time. Wants to melt and run down Thor’s skin like rain.  

Thor finishes the runes and rests his hands on Loki’s waist, turning his head to nudge Loki for a kiss. Loki surfaces from his reverie and slips his arms under Thor’s neck. Thor sees his brother smiling before their lips meet and his eyes close, but he’d swear he can taste the grin.   

Loki’s hips begin the ghost of a motion, shifting Thor’s body up the bed just slightly, but not moving within him.  

“Tease,” Thor whispers, biting Loki’s ear.  

“Mmmm,” Loki concurs, and Thor pinches his behind.

Loki lifts his hips and drops them, pulling a grunt from Thor. No longer teasing. He goes slowly for his own sake, since he’s been teetering at the edge of orgasm ever since he felt Thor’s fingers on his back. But it’s been so long, and this feels so good. His discipline doesn’t last. Wet slapping sounds fill the room. Loki’s hips build momentum until it all unravels and he spends, muffling his moan with Thor’s shoulder. Thor rubs his back while he recovers and Loki feels pressure against his stomach. Thor still hasn’t spilled.  

He shifts his legs farther apart and goes back up on one elbow, looking down over the planes of Thor’s chest and seeing his cock peeking up over them, his own belly in the background. He reaches between them and slips his third finger into himself, sending a thrill through his limbs. He’s leaking so much the liquid has been running down the base of his cock, Into Thor, he realizes, and keens quietly. He rocks his hips softly, but quickly, finger matching his pace until he’s sure he’ll stay hard. He drags all of his fingers through the wetness on his thighs and then wraps them around Thor’s cock.  

Thor hums and his hips flex. Loki’s movements complement each other like the sand does the sea - one roll of his hips with every third stroke of his hand. Thor feels like he’s rushing up through water and he holds his breath, arching off the bed as he breaks the surface, gasping and gulping in air.  

Loki lays himself down over his brother, feeling Thor’s seed spread, pressed between their chests. Just when he thinks Thor is going to sleep, a hand comes up and smooths Loki’s curls.  

“All right?” Thor asks.  

“Aye,” Loki breathes. “And you?”  

“Mmmm,” Thor assures.


	20. Dancing

Loki stares out the window at a grey sky. Not his brother’s doing. Winter in Midgard. The height of his viewpoint and the smooth vertical face of the building remind him of the cave Thor found for them. He’ll be able to get there on his own now using Freyja's cloak of feathers instead of having to take the Bifrost. He plans to polish the floor, panel the walls, carve the ceiling, and fill the thing with bedding, quite a bit of which he purchased yesterday. He discovered downy blankets that weren’t stuffed with down, so they have no quills to rustle or poke at you. When Loki asked what, exactly, was within the quilt, Pepper said that it contained the highly altered remains of tiny animals that are long dead. Loki hummed and bought the thickest one he could find and a featherless featherbed, too.

Thor curls his hips up toward him, waking him from his daydream.  

“You’re slipping out,” Thor murmurs, and Loki traps the mess in a web of seidr to save himself the trouble later.  

There is no bathtub in their room, which Loki thinks is tragic, but the shower is an enormous one. They scrub each other’s backs and hug each other close, fingers slipping on soapy skin. Thor gets a glimpse of his brother’s body, but is careful not to stare, and keeps his hands at or above Loki’s waist. He asks no questions, for which Loki is grateful, as he still isn’t sure what to say.   

He can’t come up with any words that fit without feeling at least a little vague, or crude, or clinical. Perhaps just foreign. His current candidates: burrow, den, tunnel, channel, passage, pouch, cave, vessel, slit, vagina, quim, cunt, cunny, and tun, are not perfect. His favorite is cunny, possibly because it reminds him of honey, but it sounds a bit childish. He likes cunt and tun. There must be something in those letters, he supposes. The combination of the u and the n. A sound uttered so often in the midst of sex. Quim is all right. Reminds him of whim,and the thing certainly has a mind of its own. Loki isn’t the one deciding to bleed every three months and slobber at the thought of Thor.

Perhaps he’ll ask his brother’s opinion.   

Loki smoothes salve over Thor’s neck and picks out clothes for him to wear. Most of what Pepper chose for his brother is soft and warm. She must have been worried about Thor as well. Wanted to coddle the wounded god. Loki smiles. They breakfast lazily. He reads and runs his fingers through Thor’s hair, which is currently in his lap.  

Jarvis helps them find Pepper. She’s in a huge room on a lower floor, perched on a wheeled tower that slowly rolls her through the space. The floor is covered in boxes full of tiny lights and tinsel. There’s a live evergreen in a pot the size of a car in one corner.  

“Good morning,” she calls.  

“Good morning,” they answer.  

She finishes hanging a string of lights and the tower compresses to put her back on the ground.  

“Sleep well?”  

“Quite, thank you,” Loki answers, and casts a questioning glance at the room.  

“I volunteered to decorate. Steve’s coming to help me at noon, but I wanted to get started.”  

“May we be of assistance?” Loki asks.  

“Please,” she answers.  

Loki looks through the decorations to get a sense of what to do. He glamours the walls gold and scatters silver snowflakes the size of dinner plates over them. The ceiling he darkens, and hangs with glowing orbs of red, green, silver, and gold, some tiny, some as large as his fist. Our colors, he thinks, pleased. He suspends more of the snowflakes overhead and sets them slowly spinning, reflecting the lights around them. The floor he darkens and streaks with every imaginable color before lacing silver frost across it in crystalline patterns.  

“Yes, or no?” Loki asks.

“Yes,” Pepper grins. “We’ll do the tree the old fashioned way, though.”  

They get started on untangling the coils of garland and lights meant for the tree.  

“You guys smell fantastic,” Pepper confesses, shaking her head. “What’s in your cologne?  

“Cologne?” Loki asks.  

“Perfume,” she clarifies.  

“Oh. I suspect you smell the salve I made for his neck.”  

She leans in close to Thor’s throat.  

“Yep, that’s it. You should bottle it. I’d wear it.”

Loki hums. 

Rogers arrives, blushes very slightly, and hugs Thor.   

“You okay, buddy?”  

“Yes, thank you, my friend,” Thor answers, smiling, and Steve leans over to see the scar on Thor’s neck.

“That’s healing up nice,” Steve says, and tries not to think too hard about all the other marks on Thor’s neck. 

They pass strings of lights around the evergreen, weaving them in and out of the branches. Their arms are sticky and smell of pine when they’re finished. Loki and Thor like it, reminded of their tent in the woods. They festoon the tree with shiny orbs and  glittering strands of faceted beads. Pepper hangs odd little staffs from the needles and then eats one. The men follow suit. 

They hear rustling and find Tony hanging a plant in the doorframe. Loki sniffs the air and walks over to examine it.   

“It’s poisonous,” he notes, approval and curiosity in his voice.  

“That’s tradition for you,” Stark answers, and changes direction rather dramatically. “Did you kill Baldr?”  

“The only brother I’ve killed is Thor, and you can see how well that went.”  

Tony smiles.

“I’ve read your myths,” Loki explains. “Thor is my only brother.”  

“This is mistletoe,” Tony answers.  

“Ah. And what’s its role in this tradition?”  

“If two people cross paths beneath it, they kiss,” Stark says.  

“That’s rather nice,” Loki admits, surprised.    

Tony looks at the tree and Loki follows his eyes. 

Thor and Steve have to get the star on top of it somehow. Neither is tall enough to do it on their own. They could use Pepper’s tower, but they’re probably not going to. Thor hands the decoration to Steve and walks behind him. He crouches, wraps his left arm around Steve’s hips, puts his right hand around the front of Steve’s right knee, and stands, hoisting him into the air and leaning him forward. Steve slides the star over the topmost branch and Pepper claps. Thor lets Steve down and they pat each other's backs.  

“Look at them,” Loki whispers. “What a pair they make. They’re so wholesome I’d have to slay a kitten to restore balance to the realms.”  

Tony snorts and waves his hand.   

“Steve. You ready to build a bar?” Stark asks.  

“Sure,” Steve shrugs.  

“May I help?” Thor asks.  

“Definitely,” Tony says.  

Loki offers Pepper his arm and when she takes it he sees her hands and arms are covered with little scrapes from the pine needles. Loki felt them tickle, but it didn’t occur to him that Midgardians were this fragile.  

“Come my dear, let’s mend these scrapes,” he purrs.  

On their way through the door he pulls her close and turns his head to kiss her cheek. She tries to smother a grin. Tony is still staring long after they’ve left. Thor chuckles at him.  

Loki takes her back to their room and fetches the salve from Thor’s bag while she washes the sap from her skin.  

“If this stings, or you feel at all strange, tell me,” he says, and mutters a spell aimed at only one of the red welts.  

Her eyes widen slightly as the sliver of torn skin at the crest of the scratch closes.  

“Wow.”  

“All right?” he asks.  

“Yeah,” she says, sounding more excited than her expression lets on.  

He heals the rest of the tears and then tests the salve on one of the wounds. When she shows no adverse effects he does the rest. 

“How else may I be of assistance?” he asks, and she shakes her head.  

“You already got me out of my only chore, and I’m on vacation, soooo…”  

She sees the books she lent him on the coffee table.  

“What did you think of Housman?” she chirps. 

Tony calls Pepper nine times over the course of assembling the bar. It always goes to voicemail. He’s dialing again when Jarvis chimes in.  

“Miss Potts does not have her phone, sir.”

“You could have mentioned that the first time I called.”  

“I thought you’d put it together yourself, sir. Hope springs eternal.”

Tony wants to ask if she’s all right, but doesn’t want to offend Thor with the implication that his brother’s company is in any way troubling.  

“Is my brother behaving himself?” Thor asks, and Tony could kiss him.  

“If he behaves himself any harder he’ll strain something,” Jarvis replies, and Thor chuckles.  

“He likes her very much,” Thor says fondly, and the muscle in Tony’s shoulder finally stops twitching. 

When Thor returns to the room he finds Pepper stretched out on the couch with her eyes closed, arms behind her head, and feet in Loki's lap. He’s rubbing them and reciting something. Not a spell, though. A poem. But not one Thor recognizes. Thor sits down in  a chair opposite them and listens. Loki comes to the end and gives her feet a squeeze. She sighs and swings herself around to sit up.

“How’d it go?” she asks.  

“Well,” Thor smiles.  

“I put suits in there for you,” she says, rising to leave and gesturing at the closet. “See you guys down there.”  

Thor moves to the couch.  

“Shall we wash up and get dressed?” he asks and sees Loki bite his lip.

“I’m not sure I should go.”

“They would not have invited you if they did not wish you to attend.”  

“Aye, but their friends might not feel the same, and I’ve no wish to cause them grief. Their lives are short, Thor. They haven’t time enough toheal the wounds I’ve given them.”  

"She wants you to come,” Thor tries.  

“I don’t wish to reflect badly on her, either.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Thor smiles. “If there’s a problem, we can depart, but let us try at least.”  

Loki sighs, but nods his assent. 

Their suits are both dark grey and fit like skin. They have matching waistcoats, and Loki loves the way this garment elongates the figure. Thor looks taller than ever. White shirts nearly glow where they peek out between their lapels. Their shoes are shiny and black. The only color comes from the neckties, which are charcoal with tiny colored shapes dotting them in even rows: green gazelles for Loki and red birds for Thor. 

Loki fixes his hair and then reaches for Thor’s, but Thor grabs him by the waist and drags him close. He rubs their noses together and kisses Loki’s cheeks. Loki huffs and heals the marks on their throats, to Thor’s disapproving grumbling.  

When they arrive, Tony greets them at the door and hands them drinks before nodding up at the mistletoe, egging them on to kiss each other with waggling eyebrows. Loki smirks at Thor and they both kiss Tony.  

“Well played,” Stark admits.  

Thor joins Steve at the bar and Loki makes straight for Pepper, as he doesn’t recognize the other guests. She’s talking to Coulson, who brought the cellist with him.  

Phil introduces Loki to his date.   

“This is the man who tried to kill me.”  

“That’s only half true,” Loki smiles, taking her hand. “Charmed, my dear.”  

“So. You’ve had a change of heart,” Coulson says.  

“Not at all. My heart is more steadfast than your sun. The realms have merely shifted around it. The advantage of being… of Asgard - I’ve lived long enough to see it come to pass.”  

Loki talks with the cellist and she tells him about the instrument, and Bach, and Rostropovich, and when she’ll be playing, and whether he might attend. Pepper comes to chat with Phil while Loki captivates his girlfriend.  

“So, what’s his angle,” Phil asks.  

“I don’t think he has one right now. Mostly he just fusses over his brother and reads.”  

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”  

“What’s he reading.”

“Poetry.”  

“Really? I guess that makes sense.”  

“Yeah. He came here in November and caught a few lines of the book I was reading. And he asked me about it. Aaaaaand two hours later we were still talking about poetry. And we invited him to stay for Thanksgiving dinner.” She frowns at her champagne. “And then yesterday I lent him a stack of books and today we ended up discussing half of them.”  

“Quick reader?”

“I’ve never been more jealous in my life,” she admits.  

“Well, he’s a god, so…”  

“I know. But still. He has time - he can afford to read slowly. Though, almost all the poetry he lent me was about dying, so maybe he’s not taking it for granted.”  

“He lent you poetry?” Phil asks, eyebrows climbing.  

“He did,” she nods.  

“What’s it like?”  

“A lot like ours,” she shrugs. “Morbid and romantic. Sometimes they’re grotesque. Or rude. Or obscene. Have you heard of flyting?"  

“No.”  

“You need to look into it. Anyway, it’s all weirdly charming. Oh, but there’s this obsession with dying a good death. That takes some getting used to. And things get pretty dark and… graphic. Really graphic. Their poetry reminds me of the old versions of our fairy and folktales.”  

“That bad?”  

"Worse,” she laughs. “But they’re beautiful.”  

“Uh huh. Is he stealing my girlfriend?”

“Kind of. But I don’t think it’s intentional. And I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”  

“No?”  

She shakes her head, stifling a smile.  

“Why’s that?” Phil asks.  

“He’s spoken for.”  

“Care to elaborate?”  

“Not really,” she answers, breezily, grabbing his empty glass and finding him a full one. 

There’s a corner of the large room where the music is louder and it has been claimed for dancing. Thor drags Loki over to it. They can't monopolize Pepper all night, and this way they don’t run the risk of having to explain themselves.

Stark notices that Thor and Loki dance well though they’re unfamiliar with the music and he strolls over to ask them about it. Steve follows.  

“Practice,” Thor answers. “Centuries of it.”

“There are dances for nearly everything in Asgard,” Loki explains. “For festivals, for rituals, for weddings. Some for battle, both before a nd after. For nearly every piece of music, a corresponding set of motions.”

What’s your favorite?  

“Before battle,” they answer in unison.  

“Why is that?” Tony asks, wrinkling his nose.  

“It’s a form of training, really, and a contest,” Thor says. 

“And an escape,” Loki murmurs.  

“Mmmm,” Thor agrees. “It distracts you from the wait. Redirects your nervous energy. But it also bonds you to your comrades.”  

“What are the steps?” Tony asks, intrigued.  

“None are prescribed, exactly,” Thor says. “Each dance is different. You must anticipate your partner. Neither of you may hesitate or falter. You must follow each command. And you must keep the pace.”  

“Command?” Steve asks?  

“Aye,” Thor answers, smiling. “Everyone gathers in a circle and a pair steps into the center. The youngest soldier present directs the first dance, clapping his hands to set the pace and shouting out commands - spin, jump, lift, turn, bend, swing, and so forth. The pair dances until they make an error and then two new soldiers take their place, directed by the previous pair. The dancers who lasted the longest are the victors. They get to lead the battle in the morning.”  

Tony’s eyes widen.  

“That’s the prize?” Stark asks, incredulous. “They get to die first?”  

“They’ll likely go to Valhalla if they’re killed, almost guaranteed a good death. And that’s only if they fall,” Loki finishes with a grin.  

Thor is grinning back at his brother.  

“And do you two dance?” Stark asks, knowing the answer.  

“Aye,” comes the answer from two sets of lips.  

“I wanna see this,” Stark says. “Form a circle.”  

“Are you well enough for this?” Loki asks, and Thor nods vigorously.

The guests form a ring and Thor takes Loki’s offered arm as they move to the center.  

“Captain Rogers,” Thor says, “You’re the only soldier here. Will you command?”  

“I’ll try,” Steve says.  

Thor and Loki stand opposite each other with their left hands pressed palm to palm between them.  

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Aye,” they answer, each taking a step to their right, keeping their palms together, eyes locked. 

The way they move makes Tony think of twins - they almost seem to read each other’s minds. No. Closer than twins, Tony decides, They’ve had over a thousand years together.  Tony knows exactly what a thousand of something looks like, and he still can’t fathom it. 

Steve starts running out of things to tell them to do long before they show any sign of slipping up, so they dance over to him and Loki deposits Thor on Steve’s arm.  

“Your turn, Captain,” Loki winks, and Steve huffs, but follows Thor into the center of the circle.  

Thor leans in to give Steve pointers.  

“Loki’s dances are beautiful to watch if his orders are followed-“  

“I believe it,” Steve interjects, and Thor smiles and squeezes his friends shoulder before continuing.   

“And they are a joy to perform. But, beware - he’ll command something shocking to throw off your rhythm. However, he will accept rather broad interpretations of his commands. Don’t balk.”  

Steve nods.  

“It is only dancing, Captain,” Loki chides, grinning. “Don’t look so grim."

……… 

After the dances, Thor’s face is flushed. They nod their goodnights to their friends and Loki leads Thor out of the room and into an elevator.  

“Look at you. Roses blooming in your cheeks. Cured by dancing. Mother will love that.”  

“Thank you for joining me tonight,” Thor smiles, and leans back against the wall while they coast up to their floor.  

When they get to their room Loki shuts the door behind them and then spins to pin Thor so that he’s pressed up against it. He hears Thor’s breath catch as he drops to his knees and takes off their shoes. Thor is hoping he’ll keep going, but it seems his brother is in a teasing mood. He merely leads Thor to the kitchen and orders him to drink lots of cold water. Loki joins him and then crowds into Thor’s space, wrapping his right arm around his neck and left around Thor’s waist. He sways and Thor mirrors the motion, wrapping his arms around Loki’s back and pressing a kiss to his neck. They dance, shifting their feet incrementally, turning slowly through the room. Thor follows Loki’s lead. They both feel boneless by the time they reach the bathroom.

Loki undresses Thor with torturous precision, straightening each item as it’s removed and leaving to go hang it up. Thor wants to follow h im out there and drag him into bed, but his curiosity keeps him rooted. Loki’s fingers skate over bared skin as he removes Thor's shirt  and it makes them both hum. When Thor’s trousers are around his ankles, Loki turns his head and runs a line of kisses along the left side of Thor’s cock, then leaves again to hang the pants. 

Thor is standing naked, hard, and leaking when Loki comes back and gives himself the same treatment. He teases his own skin, makes himself wait. Thor doesn’t know where his brother keeps the stores of patience he possesses. Perhaps it’s in those legs, he thinks.

When Loki takes his own trousers off, his cock springs up in the thin fabric of the underclothes he opted to wear. Thor skipped them, seeing no point. He understands it when Loki slides them down his hips.   

Clear threads of fluid fall away with the cloth. There’s the usual strand from his cock, but much thicker ropes stretch down from somewhere behind it.   

Thor is a thousand years old. He knows what that means.   

Loki leans into the shower and turns the water on while Thor comes up behind him and trails a finger down his spine. They step inside and shut the glass door, sealing themselves within the steamy little space. Sweet-smelling suds gather between their fingers as they scrub their hair and skin. They bump against each other under the shower head, smiling and shifting, until they’re free of soap, but Thor doesn’t want to leave this warm, wet little room just yet.  

He hugs Loki close and kisses him, hands drifting down around his waist and tickling there. Loki squeals into his mouth and they both laugh. The muscles of Loki’s back are tight, so Thor kneads them. He can tell his brother is nervous. He’s been quiet all day. Tense for weeks. But he knows Loki well enough to understand that if he asks why he’s nervous, Loki will deny it and push him away. You can ask him about strengths, but he likes to keep his weaknesses hidden, the way all wildings do.  

Loki softens a little under Thor’s attentions and his fingers drift up to twirl the ends of Thor’s hair and trace the curves of his ears while he drags his lips along Thor’s jaw and over his mouth. Thor tries to clasp the lips with his own, but they skate past and continue along the other half of his jaw. When Loki doubles back, Thor opens his lips wide under his brother’s and Loki gives in, tilting his head and licking into Thor’s mouth. Thor sucks Loki’s tongue and nips his thin lips. Their tongues lave and wrestle each other, sending little tendrils of warmth down through their chests, deep into their bellies. Loki leans more and more of his weight on his brother, but it’s no strain. 

They towel off and Loki pats the bed until Thor sits beside him. He paints salve onto Thor’s neck. The scar should be gone in a month at this rate, and Loki can’t wait.  

Thor pulls Loki’s legs across his own, dragging him up onto his lap. Loki twists toward him and they wind their arms around each other, kissing, nipping, and sucking on sweet skin. The top of Thor’s thigh gets wet where Loki’s behind is resting on it. When Loki is panting and scrabbling at him, Thor pinches his earlobe between his teeth.   

“How will you have me tonight, brother?” Thor rumbles, and Loki breathes a soft oh, into Thor’s ear before he’s ready to speak.  

“I want your cock in my ass and your hand on my prick,” Loki whispers, and Thor groans his approval.   

Loki crawls to the center of the bed and waits on his hands and knees, but he looks tense and Thor doesn’t like it. He sets the oil by the pillows and rubs Loki’s back.  

“Lie on your side for me, love,” Thor murmurs, and Loki does.  

The curve of that pale spine is the most inviting thing Thor can think of, but he’s going to ignore it for a minute. He kisses Loki's ribs and the side of his hip, nudging Loki’s right leg up just enough to give Thor room without leaving Loki feeling exposed. Loki can see where this is going and turns onto his belly, spreading his legs wide and hearing Thor curse happily.   

Thor paints a wet trail of kisses down Loki’s spine and leaves pink rings that are dimpled with the impression of his teeth on the milky hills of Loki’s backside. He slides his tongue down through the cleft until the skin beneath it feels puckered and then he swirls a stroke around it. He pulls Loki’s cheeks apart and sees the little bead of flesh wink at him. Thor nearly purrs and dives back in to worry the knot with his tongue until it yields, admitting the muscle that laps at it.   

He presses in again and again and soon the sheets are soaked under Loki’s hips, a mix of Thor’s spit and his own wetness. Both of his holes are twitching. He will never tire of this. Thor has taken the least lovable feature of his form and worshipped it until it has become one of Loki’s favorites. Alchemist, Loki thinks.  

"Please,” Loki pants, and rolls onto his side. Thor smooths oil onto his own cock but before he can pour more into his hand Loki stops him.  

“I won’t need any,” Loki murmurs, and Thor takes his word for it.  

He puts his left arm under Loki’s neck and curls up behind his brother, lips at the top of the spine, and Loki shifts back. Thor aligns himself and presses forward, feeling Loki stretch around him as they both let out tight breaths. He rocks his hips gently and brings his right hand up to Loki’s face, slipping his thumb between Loki’s lips and lightly pinching the flesh of the cheek between his fingers. Loki sucks Thor’s thumb and bites it gently. Thor’s hips find it wonderfully distracting.  

He runs his hand down Loki’s throat and Loki leans his head back to welcome the touch. There’s something possessive about it that Loki likes despite himself. Thor traces the collarbones and the hollow between them, thinking of Brisingamen: he wants to see Loki wear it. He teases Loki’s nipples until they’re pink and angry, standing up to glare at him. Loki’s breathing changes when Thor’s hand starts to slide down his belly. His body tenses. Thor slows down and kisses Loki’s neck and shoulder until Loki pushes his hips back and Thor rocks into him once again and moves his hand lower.   

His fingertips fluff and scratch the fur above Loki’s cock before his thumb spreads the drop of fluid from the tip over the head. Loki hums.  

Thor’s hand leaves to glide over a pale hip and down a long leg as far as his arm will reach, then slowly climbs back up through the inside.  

Loki’s hand flies down and grabs Thor’s wrist, stilling it there on the inside of his thigh. Thor obeys, but his hips keep gliding smoothly back and forth, and his lips press soft kisses behind Loki’s flushed ear.  

Loki takes a slow breath and relaxes his shoulders. He guides Thor’s hand up and then takes his own away. It already feels so good, Loki’s want outweighs his nervousness.   

Thor’s fingertips graze the skin carefully, learning theses new curves. Everything feels plump and smooth. Thor wants to see. To kiss. To taste. But if that’s what Loki wanted right now he would be sitting astride Thor’s face, so Thor will enjoy what’s given. There’s a very fleshy bit at the base of Loki’s cock. Loki cries out when Thor finds it and spreads the slickness up to the tip of his prick and back down again. He palms Loki’s balls and rubs the flat of his hand over the glazed skin, then fists Loki's cock and gives it a firm stroke. Loki flails and shouts.  

“All right?” Thor asks.  

“You have no idea,” Loki groans. "Do it again."  

Thor does. When his fingertips brush the leaking slit at the bottom of Loki’s cock, Loki’s leg quivers and his prick jumps.

“Just like that,” Loki says.   

Thor syncs his thrusts with his strokes and moves smoothly for many minutes. Wet black curls cool his cheeks as he butts the bridge of his nose up against his brother’s skull. He feels Loki tensing again and clenching around him and realizes Loki is holding his breath. Thor slows, afraid he’s in pain.  

"No," Loki yelps. “Don’t stop.”  

Thor doesn’t stop.   

Loki spills onto the sheets, sobbing out gorgeous noises that make Thor gape, jaw stretched wide until it’s stopped by his own chest.  

“Again," Loki whispers, and he can feel Thor nodding, Yes.  

After the fourth orgasm, Loki feels wrung out. He takes Thor’s drenched hand off his prick with shaking fingers and clutches it to his breast until he catches his breath.  

“Now fuck me,” Loki says, and Thor growls at him. 

Loki cleans the sheets with seidr, not wanting to offend his hosts. It still takes ten minutes. They stagger to the bathroom and after a few swipes with a wet cloth they give up and have another shower. 

In bed, they curl themselves together just as they were before. Loki can hear Thor humming something to him before he falls asleep,  but he’s too far gone to find the words.


	21. Traditions

 

It’s grey again when they wake. Loki likes it. Likes how it shields them from the sun and blurs the difference between night and day. The way the diffuse light wraps so easily around things and softens them. The way it hides every worry that has ever worn away at Thor’s face.

Thor roots into Loki’s hair with his nose and hums.  

“Mmmm… that’s better,” Thor rumbles, voice heavy with the gravel of sleep.

“What’s better?” Loki asks.  

“You smell like yourself again instead of soap. I missed it - the smell of you. It’s in your sheets, but it isn’t the same.”  

“What’s different?” Loki asks, voice bouncing off of Thor's skin.  

“It’s missing something. Warmth, perhaps. Or trickery,” Thor teases.  

“Do I smell the same?” Loki asks, for he has been wondering all these months.

Thor almost says yes, but the crafty place in his brain holds his tongue.  

“I don’t know,” Thor smiles. “I’d have to check.”  

“Ooooo, you don’t know what it does to me when you’re clever,” Loki purrs, and Thor kisses his cheek.   

Loki nods and Thor straddles him, nose at Loki’s temple. He nuzzles Loki’s hair again. It’s the scent he most heavily associates with his brother.  The one on his pillow. The one when they embrace. The one he’d know anywhere.

He pulls Loki's mouth open and sniffs inside, finding it sour from sleep. He wrinkles his nose and giggles. Loki hits him and clamps his mouth shut in an exaggerated grimace.

His neck holds a fainter scent, but the skin is so invitingly soft Thor lingers there anyway.  

And then he’s in Loki’s armpits, and Loki throws his arms up over his head and thrashes as Thor squishes his face into the hollows there and nuzzles and nips them.   

Thor sniffs Loki’s nipples primarily as an excuse to torment them, pressing and bullying them with the tip of his nose. He flips Loki onto his stomach and drags his face down his spine comically, but he’s only half joking: the jostling is in jest, but he’s taking the sniffing seriously. Thor’s nose goes all the way down his back and dips right into his ass and Loki squeaks and laughs into the mattress.   

Thor turns him over again, digging his fingers into Loki’s ribs as he does it, sending Loki squealing and flailing. He probes at the dimple of the navel and the bones of the hips. Snuffles in the musky curls above Loki’s cock - which is tucked into its burrow but Thor smells what he can reach. Sniffs the damp and delicate mouth of his new opening and the plump skin of his balls. Roots around in the crease of the thigh. Trails his nose down to the back of the knee, twisting his neck to reach it. Then he kneels at the end of the bed and lifts bony feet up to his face before dropping them and crawling back up to sprawl half on top of his brother.  

“What is your verdict?” Loki asks.

“You smell like Loki,” Thor smiles, and Loki rolls his eyes.  

“No change?” Loki asks.  

“The parts of you that are new have new scents,” Thor says, simply.  

“And what do they smell like?”

“Your fur still smells sweet and musky, but your cock smells… brighter. Grassy, perhaps - more like summer - and the opening at the base has a similar scent, but with a tartness, and something that makes me think of the sea. Your balls smell like autumn, as they ever did.”  

Loki pulls Thor in tight and kisses him. Their mouths are still swollen from sleep and their lips feel rich against each other.   

“And do I still taste the same?” Loki whispers.  

“I’d have to check,” Thor murmurs, and Loki kisses him again and nods.

Thor keeps kissing him until Loki pushes on his shoulders, ordering him down, and he nips his way along Loki’s neck. Loki puts his arms over his head again and Thor mouths the muscles that radiate from the armpit, following them in and nibbling the furred skin, swiping his tongue over it, seeing Loki’s back bowing beside him. He licks along the breast and up the sternum, tasting clean sweat. Sucks and bites the nipples gently until Loki smacks his head away, and Thor chuckles.   

Loki stretches his legs apart so Thor can kneel between them as he bends to kiss Loki’s belly, paying close attention to his waist. It’s such a vulnerable area. So many delicate organs lie all but unguarded within. Thor could tear me to pieces right now, Loki muses, but instead he’s kissing me. It occurs to Loki that’s probably why he likes this so much: it has the potential for disaster. But here he can offer up the most tender parts of his body, knowing Thor regards them with the most tender parts of his mind.  

Thor sucks bruises onto the peaks of the hips and Loki arches into the touch. His cock is full and has a bead of fluid at the end. Thor takes it with the tip of his tongue, rolling it over in his mouth. He tilts his head and sucks the skin at the frenulum between his lips as though he has Loki’s prick by the scruff of its neck. Loki shuffles his legs farther apart, bends his knees, and arches his pelvis toward the ceiling.  

Thor can see everything. The tight pink skin. The ripe curves of the testes where they’re buried beneath firm flesh. The way the ridge along the underside of Loki’s cock runs straight into the opening beneath it. The clear fluid that flows out and runs down the seam of his balls, pooling on the bed below.  

Thor sucks on the lush meat of Loki’s inner thighs and then inches higher. He wants to leave Loki enough time to yell stop if he needs to, but the way Loki’s hips are lifting up impatiently makes Thor think perhaps he won’t need to.  

The skin of Loki’s sac is soaked when Thor finally presses his lips there. He trails gentle touches upward until he’s nipping the dripping mouth of Loki’s opening as though it could kiss back. Loki can feel everything - can distinguish between Thor’s upper lip and lower lip, can feel his tastebuds.   

Thor flattens his tongue and drags it all the way from the base of Loki’s balls to the head of his cock and Loki moans and writhes on the bed. Thor does it until he has lapped up almost everything and his face is soaking and his hair is clinging to his cheeks. Then he dips his tongue slowly into Loki’s slit.  

Loki cries out and grabs Thor’s head, crushing it into his crotch. He feels Thor’s growl buzzing through his skin. Thor can hear the blood roar in his ears when Loki pins his skull in the vice of his thighs.  

Thor wants to drown like this. Valhalla be damned. The only good death is the one that waits between Loki’s legs.  

He takes Loki’s hint and continues to pulse his tongue into the juicy tunnel of flesh. Loki’s grip on his skull slowly slackens, and then his limbs fall away altogether and he keens.

Thor sees movement and then the backs of cool fingers brush his nose and cheek while Loki strokes himself. They both hum happily, soothed by safe wet sounds and smooth familiar scents, as Thor licks into the sweet warmth of Loki's cunt.  

“Can you keep doing that a while?” Loki asks, breathless.

“Yethhh,” Thor lisps, tongue still buried in his brother, and Loki smiles. 

When Loki has had his fill, he flips around in the bed so he can suck Thor’s lovely prick while Thor licks him clean. Thor ducks his head and swipes his tongue through the seed on Loki’s stomach, making the muscles in Loki’s abdomen flex and jump. Loki is gripping Thor’s hips greedily, hugging them tight. A thicket of blond curls tickles his chin each time he brings his mouth down around hot skin, and Thor’s balls bump his nose. He reaches up to scratch and pet them carefully.  

Thor spends down Loki’s throat, gasping his brother’s name and then panting endearments.  

They stumble into the kitchen and drink an absurd amount of water before they fall back into bed.   

“Well?” Loki says, face tucked into Thor’s neck.

It takes Thor’s sex-addled brain a few seconds to remember the question.  

“Your kisses taste the same,” Thor murmurs. “So does your seed. But the skin of your cock might be slightly different. Hard to say. I let everything run together a bit. The wetness inside you tastes much like it smells: like the sea and fresh mown hay.”  

Loki hums and Thor kisses him.

“Your ass tasted the same last night,” Thor adds. “Should I check to see if it’s changed since then?”  

Loki snorts and pinches him. He looks at the black fan of eyelashes shadowing Thor’s cheek. A blond with dense black eyelashes, Loki marvels. Who could hope to resist that? 

He watches the pulse in Thor’s neck and hears the heart thudding softly in his brother’s chest. Back to its old rhythm. 

“It’s a quim,” Loki says quietly.  

“Mmmhmm,” Thor agrees.  

The pulse in Thor’s throat doesn’t quicken and his brow remains smooth. How can he be so unconcerned? Loki boggles.  

“I feel like a changeling,” Loki confesses to the flat white ceiling. “Like I’ve cheated you.”  

“Out of what?” Thor asks.  

“The body you wanted all those years.”   

“I wanted you," Thor corrects. “Do I not have you?”  

“You’ve always had me, but-“   

His breath leaves his body as Thor’s weight settles on his chest. Gold hair is tickling his cheeks and Thor’s tongue is in his mouth. Damn, he’s quick, Loki thinks, stunned.  

When Loki is boneless beneath him and kissing back languidly Thor draws his lips away.  

“You can grow scales and antlers and I will still be begging you to fuck me.”  

“Fool,” Loki whispers, and Thor bites him. 

It’s well after noon when they wake again. We are terrible guests, Loki admits to himself, feeling as guilty as he is able, which isn’t very. Thor is warm and heavy, wrapped around him. Loki doesn't want to move. Ever. And he’s on Midgard, so that’s saying something. He’s stretches and rubs Thor’s back. Thor whimpers, which makes Loki scowl slightly.  

“Are you pouting because you don’t want to get up, or are you unwell?”  

“Let’s stay here,” Thor murmurs, and Loki huffs.  

“We’ve been plenty rude already. Come on. Up you get,” Loki sighs, nudging a bulky shoulder with his bony one. 

Pepper said they’d be celebrating on Christmas eve, as that was the tradition in her household, and that Christmas day will be for sleeping and eating leftovers. Loki has never had leftovers, as he grew up in a palace. Beside Thor. So the novelty will count for something.  

Loki restores the gifts he packed to their true size. There’s one that Thor doesn’t recognize. It’s quite big.  

“What’s this?” Thor asks.  

“It’s from mother,” Loki answers. “We’re not to open it until Christmas day.”  

“Christmas day begins at midnight,” Thor grins, and Loki swats him.  

Thor peeks into the pretty wooden boxes addressed to Pepper and his eyebrows ascend.  

“Parting with your treasures, magpie?” Thor asks.  

“Mmmm.”  

“How will you lure me to your bed?”  

“With pop-tarts,” Loki chirps.

Thor snorts. 

They make their apologies to their hosts when they meet them.  

“I only got up an hour ago,” Pepper admits.  

“We got up twice,” Thor says, and Loki sighs.  

Tony doubles over, smothering laughter. Steve turns a startling shade of magenta on the sofa beside him.  

“So, have you guys told your parents?” Tony asks, after he has recovered, avoiding Pepper’s gaze, but feeling it burning holes into the back of his head anyway.  

“Mother knew before we did,” Thor replies, and Tony gapes.  

“Oh, she knows everything,” Loki dismisses, with a wave of his hand, as though it’s unimportant, or obvious.  

“How ‘bout dad?” Stark tries. "I believe he saw you kissing."

“Yes, he knows,” Loki answers. “Though I don’t know how long he has known. There is little that could shock him. I feared he’d be angry.”  

“Is he?” Stark asks.  

“No,” Loki answers, sounding surprised.

“So you’re in the clear,” Tony concludes, but Loki knows it’s really a question.

“Vanaheim and Alfheim are the only realms in which incest is greeted with… indifference. Perhaps even acceptance,” Loki answers.  

“Asgard as a whole is very… old fashioned,” Thor admits, reluctantly.  

“Are you guys safe?”

“Thor is loved and I am feared,” Loki shrugs. “We’ll manage.” 

Loki strolls into the kitchen and peeks over Pepper’s shoulder at the fruit she’s chopping. It’s ugly, but smells spectacular.  

“Want some pineapple?”  

“I believe so,” Loki murmurs.

She finishes sawing through the rough skin, carves off a side, dices it, and pops a piece into his mouth. He resists the urge to lick her fingers, for which he silently congratulates himself.  

“Good?” she asks.

“Very. Thank you.”   

He grabs a piece and walks over to the couch. Thor has joined Steve and Tony in watching a movie.  

Loki holds the fruit in front of Thor’s mouth and Thor opens it without looking up. After it hits his tongue his eyebrows rise and he gets up , taking Loki’s arm and leading him back to the kitchen.

“What is it?” Thor asks.  

“Pineapple, apparently,” Loki answers.  

Pepper hands them each a bowl and they all plop down to watch the film. There’s a beautiful man in a bed. He tells gorgeous lies to a child to trick her into helping him destroy himself. It doesn’t work.  

Tony gets up to baste the turkey and the scent floods the room. Thor makes a happy sound and Loki shakes his head, laughing.

“What?” Thor asks.  

“I fear one day you’ll leave me for roasted fowl.”  

“It could be today,” Thor teases.  

“I suppose it’s kind of the Norns not to keep me in suspense.”  

“Mmmm,” Thor agrees. 

Loki glamours a little bundle of mistletoe over Steve’s head and waits for someone to notice it. 

As soon as the last bite of dinner has been eaten, Pepper is up and on her way to the tree.  

"Presents,” she sings.   

They sit on the floor, sorting gifts.

All but one of Thor’s boxes are the same size, and he’s pretty sure they’re pop-tarts, so he’s delighted. He has no idea what the big one is, but Loki nods when he sees it.  

Loki has a bottle of something and two books.  

There’s another book-shaped-thing addressed to both of the brothers.  

Steve has tiny things that he couldn’t hope to guess.  

Pepper has three ornate boxes and a leather bound book tied shut with ribbon. It has no title on its cover.  

Tony’s gift is so small he has to keep it cupped in his hand so he doesn’t lose it.  

They open them in order of who is oldest.

Thor does have pop-tarts. And his helmet. Tony cleaned off all the blood and polished it. Thor runs his fingers over it. Loki wonders if Thor has forgiven the thing for nearly killing him. Loki himself has not yet managed to do so.  

Loki has The Complete Poems of John Keats, A Shropshire Lad, and a bottle of Glengoyne, limited edition, distilled in 1996. He pops the cork and sniffs, then hums and holds it up for Thor to smell.   

“Apples,” Thor notes, smiling softly.

“That one’s from Jarvis,” Pepper says, pointing to the gift addressed to Thor and Loki.  

They peel off the shiny paper. It’s a large book. No title.  

Loki opens it.  

"Oh," Loki breathes.    

Thor just beams.  

It’s full of photographs. Lovely ones. Taken from the thousands of cameras scattered through the tower. Thor sleeping. Loki and Pepper with their heads thrown back, laughing. Thor and Loki dancing. Loki in the dark, staring out the window. Shots of them eyeing  each other when they think their brother isn’t looking. A kiss Thor stole in the hall after the dance. Steve and Thor spinning each other wildly on the dance floor. A hundred others.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Loki murmurs, and Thor seconds him.  

“Merry Christmas and Happy Jul,” Jarvis says.  

Steve opens four boxes to reveal four tiny vials: red, white, blue, and brown.  

“Don’t open them until you need to,” Loki warns.

“What’s in them?” Steve asks.  

“Fire, air, water, and earth. As much as you require, whenever you want them.”  

Steve raises his eyebrows and makes a soft huh.  

“Thanks.”  

Stark opens his. It looks like a tic tac.  

“Jarvis tells me Midgard’s spies hide poison in their teeth.” Loki says, as though that helps.  

“You gave me cyanide?" Tony gasps.  

“No,” Loki laughs. “Though there is cyanide in apple pips, and this pill is made from apples. But this is no poison.”  

“What is it?”  

“Antidote.”

“To what?”  

“Death. It will dissolve when you need it. Not with old age, but with injury. You cannot always be in your armour.”  

Tony’s jaw drops slightly, but he claps it shut quickly.  

“No, no,” Loki says. “Open back up. I have to put it in a tooth.”  

They all look to Pepper as she opens her gifts.  

She does the book first. Verses of the Nine Realms.  

“It favors Asgard and Vanaheim rather heavily, I’m afraid, but they’re all there,” Loki says.  

“Ooooo,” she purrs. "Thank you.”  

She moves on to one of the carved boxes, undoing the latch and lifting the lid. Her eyes go wide and she opens the other two in quick succession.

She stares at Loki.  

“Are they not to your taste?” he asks, right eyebrow ascending.  

“No - they’re perfect. Just… Wow. Thank you.”  

“You are welcome. Thank you for introducing me to John Keats.”  

She smiles. He rises and takes a gold necklace from its case, pinching the chain and separating it. Pepper can’t see any clasp. He steps behind her.  

“Lift your hair for me, love,” he murmurs, and fastens it at the nape of her neck.  

She sobers, collects the other jewels, and leaves with Loki to find a mirror.

Thor is smiling softly.  

“You’re not even a little jealous,” Stark says, almost to himself.  

“No,” Thor agrees. “She makes him happy. She appreciates words and beauty and cleverness, just as he does. Recklessness. Fearlessness. It’s why she likes you, and it’s why she likes him. And he loves so rarely. I would not cage his heart.”  

Tony makes a note to himself to stop underestimating pretty blond beefcakes: he’s 0-2. 

They watch a movie called L. A. Confidential.    

“It’s set at Christmas,” Tony says, defensively, and Pepper rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning.  

Loki finds it unexpectedly relevant, as the popular, muscled, angry officer reluctantly befriends the small, friendless, clever one. And there’s a blond who causes him to question his allegiance to cock. 

They are warm with wine and mirth when they get back to their room.

“I have a gift for you,” Thor says, trying to suppress a grin and failing utterly.  

“I’ve one for you as well,” Loki admits.   

They fetch them from their bags and sit on the bed, exchanging the parcels.

Thor opens a tiny box and sees a vial.  

“What is it,” Thor says, sadness bleeding into his voice.  

“Morning Glory, Honeysuckle, and a strand of my hair, all reduced to ash and mixed with mead,” Loki answers.  

Thor’s mouth falls open and he looks like he might weep.   

He hasn’t asked Loki for any promises. Perhaps that’s why Loki is able to offer one. There is no undoing this spell. The potion will seep into Thor’s bones and Loki will never be able to hide from him.  

“May I drink it now?” Thor asks.

“Aye,” Loki says. “You won’t notice much when we’re in such close quarters. But the first time we’re separated, it will feel very strange. You’ll get used to it, though.”  

Thor drains it and smiles. His toes are wiggling.  

Loki opens his parcel and curses. 

It’s Freyja’s dress. 

“Put it on. Now,” Loki whispers, sitting bolt upright on the bed.  

Thor shrugs off his sweater and tugs down his jeans. He throws the dress over his head and shimmies into it, straightening it carefully, and clasps the delicate belt of gold around his waist.  

“Let me look at you,” Loki says.

Thor goes to the wall directly in front of his brother and leans back against it. His nipples press up into the fabric, and his cock is already tenting the front slightly.  

“Turn around,” Loki murmurs.  

The nip of Thor’s waist looks even narrower from the back and Loki hums, pressing the heel of his palm against the bulge in his own trousers.  

He rises and stands behind his brother, breathing against the back of Thor’s long neck, the promise of contact causing gooseflesh to rise there.

He sets his lips over the first bone of the spine and hears Thor inhale. He presses his clothed erection to the cleft of Thor's ass and hears him exhale.

His arms follow the belt and find their way around Thor’s waist as he sucks marks up the bend of his neck. He likes the way so much of Thor's skin is visible in the backless dress with his shorn locks. Thor’s nipples sting under  Loki’s pinches and he groans his gratitude.

Loki coaxes Thor’s lips over his shoulder, fingers fisted in blond hair to guide his brother’s head. As their lips slot together his other hand drops down to tease Thor’s cock through the silky barrier of fabric. Thor’s hips press forward, seeking pressure and being denied. He turns Thor around and pushes him back against the wall, then kicks his legs apart so that Thor is shorter than he is. Loki has to drop his head a little when they kiss, and Thor has to tip his chin up. Like he’s begging. It exposes the length of his throat in a way Loki likes. Like he is drinking, greedily. I’ll give you something to drink, you gorgeous thing, Loki thinks.  

“On your knees,” Loki whispers, breath humid against Thor’s cheek.  

He goes down so gracefully it makes Loki groan.  

Bright blue eyes burn up at him and Loki leans forward. Thor rubs his face back and forth over the front of Loki’s pants, making happy sounds while Loki’s head lolls on his neck. Loki’s fingers fly over the buttons of his shirt and he tosses it away. Thor's hands float up to trace ribs and tug nipples. Loki keeps his fingers in his brother’s thick hair while Thor undoes his trousers and lets them fall, pooling at his ankles with a soft shuffling sound. He steps out of them and tosses them away with his toes.   

Thor wraps his lips around the head of Loki’s cock and Loki pulls him in by the hair, burying his prick in the wetness of Thor’s mouth and feeling a pleased moan shiver through his skin.  

“All right?” Loki asks.  

“Mmmm,” Thor hums, nodding slightly.  

“Tell me if you’re not,” Loki says, and Thor nods again.

On the next thrust he meets Thor half way, leaning back as he pushes Thor away, and then surging forward as he drags him close.    

There are marvelous little sounds and flutters when the tip of Loki’s cock teases the back of Thor’s throat. Loki likes this. He can control the pace. And Thor’s eyes are watering from suppressing his gag reflex. It looks like he’s crying.  

“You make me so wet,” Loki murmurs, and the moan it pulls from Thor’s throat soothes the panic that flooded Loki’s breast: he hadn't meant to say that aloud.  

Thor’s hands climb slowly up his brother’s legs. They slide through the sweat at the backs of the knees and grip the swell of the thighs before kneading the flexing meat of his ass. His left hand stays there, but his right slips around and palms the inside of Loki’s right leg. Loki wasn’t lying: his skin is slick. Thor follows the trickle of fluid to its source, teasing the testicles and the seam between them. Loki moans into his own chest, where his head has dropped. Thor parts the tiny mouth of his brother’s opening and slides his third finger into it. Loki’s legs are shaking. He matches Loki’s thrusts, sheathing his finger as Loki’s cock hits the back of his throat. Loki seems to moan the loudest when Thor presses his finger toward the front of his brother’s body, so he keeps doing it. He feels the little wall of muscle clench and flutter around him. Loki screams when he spills, and then sinks to the floor.   

Thor wipes his chin and lies down beside his brother.  

“All right?” Thor asks.  

“Aye,” Loki laughs, panting and dazed.  

They kiss lazily.  

“Sit on the bed, love,” Loki says, once his breathing has leveled.  

Thor obeys and Loki kneels before him, slowly lifting the skirt of the gown until he can see Thor’s cock, full and wet. He winks and throws the dress over his own head. He remains there, tented under the silk with Thor’s cock deep in his mouth and Thor moaning prettily above him until Thor spills, groaning softly. Thor pulls up his skirt to reveal a grinning god of mischief with a frizzy mess of curls.  

They shower swiftly, afraid they’ll fall asleep on their feet.

Loki treats Thor’s scar. He is fanatical about it, but Thor can’t bring himself to mind. He enjoys the tiny, delicate brushes of the pads of cool fingertips and the sentiment they  confess to his skin.

“It’s after midnight,” Thor notes, eyeing Frigga’s gift, and Loki sighs, feigning exasperation.  

“Oh, very well,” Loki complains, but he wants to see it too.  

He lets Thor open the leather case, revealing a satin lining.   

The thing inside is black. Thor unfolds it and lays it on the bed  

Two figures in a boat. The ones from Loki’s quilt. A sea of green and gold thread.   

Loki holds his breath as Thor turns it over.   

He has never looked at Thor’s quilt; his brother always keeps the side with the stars facing out, just like Loki does.  

The blanket settles over the bed and Thor grunts.  

“Is this your quilt?” Loki asks.  

“Aye.”  

Loki looks.  

A hexagonal pattern of silver embroidery covers the whole surface, and there’s a red shape overlaid in the center. Loki keeps looking.  

Snowflakes, Loki realizes, as the silver strands resolve themselves. He stares harder at the red thread until its shape becomes plain to him. An eagle.  

"Norns,” Loki murmurs. “She told us. Ages ago. And we didn’t notice.”  

“I never realized she was so fond of bending rules,” Thor marvels. “We should ply her with wine and ask her about her youth.”  

Loki nods his agreement.

They sleep soundly under this shared treasure. It has been ages since they owned something together, and it’s a welcome return.

Loki packs their things with seidr and they join Tony and Pepper in breakfasting on the remains of their supper. Thor chooses the savory things - turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and gravy - while Loki eats pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce piled high with whipped cream.   

They say their farewells soon after, wanting to leave their hosts with at least a little of this holiday all to themselves.  

Loki hums when Pepper hugs him goodbye and blushes when she adds a peck on the lips. Thor grins. 

And then they’re back in the Bifrost.   

“Odinsons,” Heimdall greets, and they bow.   

When they rise, Heimdall is scowling and shaking his head at Loki.

Loki is smirking, trying not to genuinely smile.  

“What did you do?” Thor sighs.  

“Nothing,” Loki says, his voice dripping innocence. “Which is why he’s cross with me.”  

Thor huffs. Loki turns and walks toward the wall. He leans back on his heels and stares up at the roof of the orb, hands joined behind him. He has his back turned to them as though he’s waiting for Thor to leave with him rather than hiding his grin.  

“What does that mean?” Thor asks.  

“I forgot to place wards on us while we were away.”  

Thor sighs and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  

“You forgot?”  

“Mmmm,” Loki confirms.  

“Oh, Heimdall, I’m sorry,” Thor groans.  

Loki bounces on his toes.  

“I’ll learn to cast the wards,” Thor mutters.  

“That is wise,” Heimdall says. 

Thor takes a deep calming breath. Then takes four more. 

“Shall we walk?” Thor asks, finally.  

“Aye,” Loki answers, and offers Thor his arm as they slip through the Bifrost’s gold skin.  

Their heels tap softly on the bridge as they amble toward the city. It was not uncommon for them to walk arm in arm when they were younger, and it has been a regular sight in Asgard throughout Thor’s recent recovery, so they’re not too worried about it now. Soon, Thor will be back out sparring and drinking with his friends, and he’ll boast of Loki’s saving his life. The news will seep through the city, buying Loki some goodwill and granting both of them some peace. It won’t last forever. Loki will get bored and do something to spoil it. But he has enough sense to enjoy himself in the interim. 

……… 

Some time before dawn, Thor makes a perplexed hmphh.  

“Troubles, dearest?” Loki lilts.   

Thor peels his face from Loki’s skin to answer.  

“I cannot smell you. I think I’ve made you smell like me.”  

“I shall die of shame. Incest is one thing, but this…” and Loki feigns a shudder and they both giggle and Thor’s nose resumes its post near Loki’s throat.  

Loki cranes his neck to look down at his brother and shakes his head in mock disgust before letting it fall dramatically back on to the pillow.  

“You are as a pig in shit, Thor,” Loki sighs, and Thor hums his agreement. “You certainly smell like one… Which means that now I smell like one. Wonderful. Norns, what do I see in him?”  

“Surely you love me for my mind,” Thor answers, and then moves to wrap wet lips in a wide ring around Loki’s right nipple. And Loki holds his breath and thinks You may be touched with some genius after all, brother, until Thor exhales forcefully to make a rude noise against his skin and shatters that illusion. Loki groans.  

“I can’t believe my flesh was your accomplice in that joke. I can’t believe I’ve just qualified it as a joke. Your mind is contagious. Asgard shall fall to a plague of dimwittedness… Unless it is transmitted by fornicating, in which case, if there is an outbreak, you and I shall have words.”  

“If that is how it is passed, you shall be the only victim.”  

“Sentiment,” Loki sighs, and Thor snorts.  

Thor shifts to prop his head up on his arm and Loki stares at him.

"Norns, you are a lovely thing. The word king will prove incapable of encompassing you,” Loki murmurs, and his slender fingers brush wisps of blond away from blue eyes.  

Thor smiles, but it slowly fades to a grimace as he gazes at their joined hands.  

“Thinking again?” Loki teases. “Careful, you’ll strain something. Easy stages, brother. Baby steps.”   

Thor kicks him.

“Father said we were both born to be kings, do you remember?”  

“I do.”  

“Was that the closest he came to telling you of your parentage?”

“It was. And of course I never could have gleaned that meaning given what I knew then. But, one way or another, Odin’s words always contain the truth, much as my own lies do. Many realities can be wrung from them. Perhaps he meant that I’m Jotunheim’s heir as you are Asgard’s. Or it may be a reference to my brief rule here and your reign to come.” Loki stretches like a cat before burrowing into Thor’s neck, and he can feel Thor’s words vibrating against his cheek when he speaks.   

“I always thought he meant it another way.”  

“Oh?” Loki asks, tipping his head back to look Thor in the face. “And what’s that?”  

“That we were meant to rule Asgard together. You as my king, and me as yours.”

Loki doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing.  

“Thor, your optimism is showing.” 

And they’re laughing. When they’ve stilled and relaxed once more into a pile of limbs Loki continues.  

“Another of Odin’s sleeps approaches. He could barely conceal his yawns at dinner. Mother stuck him with a fork. You will take the throne and then his prophecy, if that’s what it is, will be fulfilled.”  

“If you say so,” Thor answers, with a sleepy smile. He has made up his mind… centuries ago, it would seem.  

And perhaps he’s right, Loki supposes, looking at Thor’s already-sleeping face. These realms have seen stranger things. 

Their legs are tangled together in the sheets, spent cocks nestled in a humid pelvic cocoon, bellies adhered to each other with sweat. And they do smell a bit ripe. And they should probably burn these sheets. And, they have never felt so content in all their long lives.  

They came by very different paths. Thor has floated through the centuries, borne along like a boat, while Loki has waded all the way. Loki’s toes know the suck of sludge between them and the flutter of the slippery things that slither through the muck. Thor knows the glitter of gifts, the gleam of steel, the music of laughter. Loki doesn’t mind it anymore. Between the two of them, they know the whole of it; for Thor’s storms and flight belong to Loki now, just as Loki’s stars and ice belong to Thor.

**Author's Note:**

> please don't comment or repost.


End file.
